


Extra Waffles

by alSaqr, elisi



Series: The Exile [8]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alSaqr/pseuds/alSaqr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi
Summary: Stories set in the universe of"Not the Last"and"The Exile"that stand alone/don't really fit elsewhere. See chapter notes for where they fit into the saga chronologically and other notes/outtakes.
Relationships: Omega/Rassilon (Doctor Who), Rodageitmososa/Captain Jack Harkness, The Master/Lucy Saxon
Series: The Exile [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/20309
Comments: 41
Kudos: 5





	1. Reading Order Guide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** The list that follows is a continuing guide to the reading order for ‘The Exile’ series and ‘Not the Last’ series co-written by HondoKenobi and Elisi on AO3. If you’re interested in following the tales of both The Seeker and the Redjay this is your best place to begin.
> 
> The Redjay’s stories begin with “There, and Back Again” and the Seeker’s begin with “Not the Last”; this is where the timelines become entangled and two ‘verses become one. Stories will be updated as they are written. Please tread carefully through AO3 tags and ratings.
> 
> Stories marked with a ☆ are written by HondoKenobi, and those with a ♡ are written by Elisi.
> 
> Last updated: 10/01/2021

**☆**[ **There, and Back Again**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140040) **( Chapter 1 - 9 )**

Growing into a Time Lady is hard enough, but growing up as the Lord President's ward is even harder. Especially when it seems as though all of Gallifrey and strangers alike want to tell you how to live your life and who you're going to become.

****☆** Extra Waffles: [This I Have Seen, Lord of Gallifrey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713218/chapters/68081266#workskin)**

Rassilon visits the Seer.

**☆**[ **There, and Back Again**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140040) **( Chapter 10 - 15 )**

****☆** Extra Waffles: [Deus in Absentia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713218/chapters/67851451#workskin)**

He had been nothing but generous. Rassilon the Great knew better than Rodageitmososa the Orphan.

****☆**[There, and Back Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140040/chapters/62507929) ( Chapter 16 - 29 )**

_There is a long absence of plot between these two stories, which should be filled in over the course of 2020._

**☆ A Year to Forget (** [ **Prologue** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580301/chapters/67467224) **)**

Or: The Year That Never Was, from the Redjay's POV. 

**☆ A Year to Forget:** [ **At First** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580301/chapters/67482832#workskin)

She remembered the distress signal; all of the distress signals. She didn’t remember anything else after the avalanche.

**☆ A Year to Forget:** [ **Rules and Reparations** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580301/chapters/67661054)

“Your Lord and Master stands on high... playing track six.” In which the Master teaches some prisoners a lesson or two.

**☆ A Year to Forget:** [ **She Carries Guilt on Her Shoulders** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580301/chapters/67692623)

Once, Tish had asked the Doctor who she was. The Redjay. The conversation had stuck with her.

**☆ A Year to Forget:[Enough](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580301/chapters/67695050) **

Set immediately after "She Carries Guilt on Her Shoulders". Roda realises that something is very, very wrong.

**♡ Not the Last (** [ **Chapter 1** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/448551/chapters/768274) **-2)**

What if the Master and Lucy had a child during the Year That Never Was? 

**☆ A Year to Forget:** [ **I’ll Shape Your Belief** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580301/chapters/67485461)

In which the Master introduces the Redjay to his son.

****☆** Extra Waffles: [Your Father's a Thief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713218/chapters/67851560)**

The Master and the Redjay talk, three days later.

**♡** **Not the Last (** [ **Chapter 3** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/448551/chapters/768270#workskin) **-4)**

**☆ A Year to Forget (** [ **Epilogue** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580301/chapters/67521605) **)**

Three years after The Year That Never Was, Roda is reintroduced to Alexander Saxon.

**☆ Extra Waffles:** **[Don't Tell Me What the Poets Are Doing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713218/chapters/70306869) **

A missing scene from after the epilogue of "[A Year To Forget](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580301/chapters/67521605)".

**♡ Extra Waffles:** **[First Contact](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713218/chapters/67895326)**

It's the first day of school for Alexander Saxon. Which means new friends...

**♡ Extra Waffles:** **[A Christmas Carol for the Master](https://archiveofourown.org/works/448578)**

Because just sometimes, Christmas miracles do happen.

**♡** **Not the Last (** [ **Chapter 5** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/448551/chapters/768272#workskin) **-6)**

**♡ Extra Waffles:** [ **Big Brother** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/448597)

There are always consequences.

**♡ Extra Waffles:** [ **The Problem with Boxing Day** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/448655)

Alexander Saxon (six years old) hated Boxing Day almost as much as he loved Christmas.

**♡** [ **Alien Abduction** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/448722)

This story begins with abduction and ends with waffles. In between there's some adventuring and some heartache and a fair few truths are revealed.

**♡** [ **Dating the Cleverest Boy in the World** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/457252)

Allison had always thought that university would be an adventure. But she'd not imagined that she'd end up dating Harold Saxon's son.

**☆ Extra Waffles:** [ **Waffle Ironing-out the Kinks** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613841)

Before today, Rodageitmososa hadn’t been able to conceive of any way that trying to pick up a pizza could have gone so disastrously wrong.

**♡** [ **To Save a Life** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/458749)

It's Christmas (2027), but the rift doesn't care about peace and goodwill.

**☆ Extra Waffles:** [ **To Change a Life** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27653045)

In which Roda rights a wrong, and makes Alexander Saxon an offer.

**♡** [ **Remembering the Day I Died** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3199013)

The story of the Seeker's first regeneration.

**☆Timely Lovers:** [ **The Cosmic Kids** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619831/chapters/67573072)

When Rodageitmososa answered a holocube from Alexander Saxon asking for "someone", she never imagined how her life would change for the better, or what it would mean for their friendship. And no matter how it ended... those years would always mean more than she could ever say.

**♡Timely Lovers: The Cosmic Kids (** [ **Epilogue** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619831/chapters/67574566#workskin) **)**

It’s an epilogue. It ties things up.

**♡Timely Lovers:** [**By the Fireside**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619831/chapters/67574851#workskin)

How the Master found out.

**♡Timely Lovers:** [ **His Father’s Son** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619831/chapters/67574926#workskin)

The Master and his son have a discussion about the Redjay. It doesn't go quite as the Master anticipated...

**☆** **Timely Lovers:** [ **At an Impasse** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619831/chapters/67625906)

The Master sends a coded message, Jack finds a newspaper, and Roda negotiates terms.

****☆** Timely Lovers: [The Human Tradition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619831/chapters/68009131)**

In which Roda learns how humans celebrate anniversaries, and thinks it good.

****☆** Extra Waffles: [A Friend of Pygmalion Seven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713218/chapters/68118262)**

In which Talos Golaras Valhekarian, purveyor of fine steaks and sides, takes Roda aside for a small talk.

**♡ Timely Lovers:** [ **Every Time a Bell Rings** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619831/chapters/67718731)

Roda learns the meaning of Christmas.

**♡** [ **We May as Well Be Strangers** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7068346)

He woke to devastation. (How the Seeker regenerated the second time)

**♡** [ **A Good Day (Or: The War in the Medusa Cascade)** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141152)

The Master's son finally meets the Daleks. And he thought it a good day.

**☆** **Timely Lovers:** [ **Goodbye, Lover** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619831/chapters/67761541)

How it ends.

**♡ Stepping Sideways:** [ **Pete’s World** **  
** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603551/chapters/12911110)The Seeker takes some time out to travel and think things over… in different dimensions.

**♡ Stepping Sideways:** [ **A Jack in the Box** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603551/chapters/22229810)

“And go on… If I’m Jack, who might you be?”

**♡** **☆ Stepping Sideways:** [ **A Long Way from Sherwood** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603551/chapters/26035752)

How do you save people that don't want to be saved?

**♡ Stepping Sideways 4:** [ **Not What She Expected** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603551/chapters/27285144)

Missy meets the Seeker.


	2. This I Have Seen, Lord of Gallifrey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rassilon visits the Visionary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene set after Chapter 9 of "There, and Back Again".

“No power so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear.”

**― Edmund Burke**

The Visionary was a difficult woman to understand and, once located, even more troublesome to decipher. All the same it was to her quarters that Rassilon headed when he was certain that Rodageitmososa had finally fallen asleep, grim determination on his face.

He hated the woman. The Visionary was a remnant of _everything_ he had sought to rid Gallifrey of when he had ended the reign of the Pythia. Superstitious, heathen and technologically stagnated. How her kind could cling to worshipping the moons of Gallifrey instead of crediting the work of solar engineers and physicists like himself and Peylix he had never been able to fathom. It was _they_ who had led Gallifrey into the light, and made them a race to be reckoned with in the universe. True Lords and Ladies of time. Not fairy tales and parables and ‘magic’.

Most of her contemporaries had been exiled to Karn after the civil war, and yet he had felt it pertinent that the Visionary remain. Her prophecies - even if they were likely little more than the ramblings of a mad woman - were too intriguing to entirely ignore. He allowed her a platform for her proselytizing with the firm belief that nobody on Gallifrey would be so foolish as to take her seriously. And though he would never admit it he took care to listen, just in case.

But his experience at the Prydonian Academy had rattled him. Not just his ward’s reckless disregard for her own life, but also the things he had seen and heard when he had broken her connection to the ‘game’. Rodageitmososa no doubt hadn’t recognized the voice that had addressed her at the end of her dissociative vision, but _he_ had. Eighth Man Bound, as Tots had named it, was a way to look down one’s regenerative line and see a possible future… So what role, precisely, did the Visionary have in Rodageitmososa’s?

He would have answers (cryptic or otherwise) before the day was done; assuming, of course, that he could coax some sense from the ancient Gallifreyan. Something told him he had to know, and that it involved him as much as it did his ward. Pausing at the door to the Visionary’s quarters only to key in his presidential override to the security system, Lord Rassilon stormed through the woman’s unruly study and rapped insistently on the door.

The Visionary didn’t seem surprised to see him. It was hard to tell if that was because she knew he was coming, or she was so strung out on prophecy that nothing rattled her. Staff tapping hard against the floor as he walked Rassilon put on his most commanding voice and stopped just feet from her, looking down upon the mountains of paper and ink she currently resided in with distaste, and took a deep breath.

“Visionary. I would have words with you.”

Elbow-deep in ink, it took the woman a few seconds to respond. Rassilon fought down irritation, leaning on his staff and gripping it hard enough that it almost hurt.

“Lord Rassilon…” Rassilon wasn’t sure if the Visionary spoke a greeting, or was simply commenting on his presence. He shook his head, waiting for her to say more. “You will be expected.”

“I am here now,” he commented, sharply. But the Visionary shook her head.

“You have been here, are here, and will be here again, Rassil Onasti Prydonius. It matters not.”

“It matters to _me_ , you insufferable-!” Rassilon drew in a long breath through his nose, and took one of the seats surrounding the oval table the Visionary sat at, before he lost his temper. “I have no time for your riddles, Visionary.”

“We are Lords and Ladies of Time,” she argued, calmly. “And my ‘riddles’ are why you are here, Lord of Gallifrey.”

Resting his staff against the table, Rassilon steepled his fingers and studied the Visionary over his hands. She was an ancient woman, and disheveled. He sometimes wondered if she ever left this room and her papers, when not summoned from it. Grey-brown hair spilled over her shoulders and her face, and the swirling tattoos of hastily scrawled High Gallifreyan covered almost every available inch of skin. Her robes were old and faded - Prydonian red, for the upper caste - and there were bags under her eyes and ink stains all over her hands. If one hadn’t known who either of them were, they would have thought their meeting peculiar and out of place. He, impeccably dressed and a figure of authority and power and her - unkempt, unhinged and hunched over her prophecies like a goblin.

Still, he reminded himself that he had to show her _some_ respect. Not all of the words she spoke were nonsense, he knew; whether or not it was coincidence remained to be seen. But today, he had to behave as though he thought her wise, if he were to get the knowledge he wanted.

“What have you seen, Visionary? What news have you of Rassilon’s fate?”

“Not of Lord Rassilon,” she spoke, as though he should have known, “but of the Child.”

Rassilon’s back stiffened and his eyes narrowed. _So it_ was _her voice. She_ has _seen something. But did Rodageitmososa hear it, too?_ Swallowing hard, the founder of Time Lord society gripped the edge of the table he was sat at, eyes locked on those of the Visionary.

“Tell me what you have seen.”

She sat up, for the first time since his arrival in her chambers, pushing papers aside as she searched for something. Rassilon watched as she took hold of a clean sheet of parchment, reaching for the pot of ink and the archaic quill sat in front of her, still looking…. no, not at him. _Through_ him. Her eyes were wide, unseeing; fixed on the middle distance, her mouth moving wordlessly as she dipped the quill into the ink and began to scratch away at the paper. Great, sweeping gestures stained paper, skin and table alike as she worked like a creature possessed. Rassilon had to restrain himself from sitting forward in his seat, desperate to know what she was writing and more desperate, still, that it would be nothing but drivel. Time seemed to drag on, and he forced himself to think about other things. But it kept coming back to those few, damning words.

What had possessed the child to behave as she did? Rassilon grit his teeth, glowering at the wall as his hands curled into fists. He thought he had raised her better than that; thought, at least, that she would not risk her life to prove a point to some Scendelesean whose father scarcely held his seat in the Council.

And yet she had disappointed him yet again, when he had seen such promise, such drive in her in her youth. Always reading, watching him work, eager to know what this was and that was… and somewhere down the line, she had thrown it all away for - what? He hadn’t a clue. Foolish daydreams? Teenage rebellion? He had tried to drill discipline and ambition into her from the day she had become his ward, and yet time and time again Rodageitmososa had returned his efforts with _attitude._

It was exhausting trying to raise her, to shape her. To create in her a Time Lady he would be _proud_ to say he had raised. And while he’d found that he did, in some way, _care_ for her she made it exceedingly difficult. Especially when she insisted upon taking risks that had killed greater Time Lords than herself.

The jarring scratch of metal on wood shook him from his reverie, and Rassilon stared once more at the Visionary as she lifted quill from paper at last and beheld her writing. Fighting the urge to snatch it from her he placed his palms on the table and raised an expectant eyebrow.

“ _Well_?”

“Patience, Lord President.” He seethed at her tone of voice, but kept his mouth shut. “What the prophecies have foretold is not yet dried on the page.”

“I will remind you,” said Rassilon, through clenched teeth, “to whom you _speak._ ”

There was a long silence. The two Time Lords appraised one another; Rassilon having pushed himself to his feet, the Visionary extending one sharpened nail to hold down the papers on which she had been scribbling. Electricity crackled around Rassilon’s gauntlet as his temper flared, but he made no move to use it. Striking down the Visionary would be a foolish act indeed. But the static made the hairs on his arms stand on end and fluttered the discarded papers dramatically, only deepening the tension.

Finally, the Visionary fixed his gaze upon him at last and relinquished her hold on her writing. When she spoke her voice was deep and distant, chilling him to the bone.

“This I have seen, Lord of Gallifrey, Master of Prydon.” Her eyes almost glowed, and he leaned over her in anticipation. “When the sky is new and the stars uncharted, the child will return, but not to home.” The Visionary paused, eyes widening. “They will return with broken hearts, as it is said, and the guardian-”

“Will fall to _ruin_ ….” Rassilon’s expression darkened as the Visionary simply nodded, once, confirming what he had said. He shook his head in frustrated disbelief, and then slammed one fist down upon the table. “Who does the prophecy speak of, Visionary? Who is the child? The guardian?”

“The Prophecies of Time are not so easily-!”

“Damn it, Visionary!” Rassilon brought up his gauntleted hand without even thinking, fingers outstretched in a wordless threat. “I am the Master of Time, and you will _bend_ your visions to _my_ will!”

There was a look almost like pity on the Visionary’s face, as she scarcely reacted to his postulations. Catching himself Rassilon lowered his arms, eyes ablaze, and she finally graced him with a response.

“This is what I have written. No more, no less.”

“And what does it _mean_?”

“It means many things, and all things,” she replied, cryptically. “And nothing at all.”

Rassilon opened his mouth to argue and then shut it again, furious. He could recognize a battle he would lose before it began. The Visionary had had her say, and would only talk in circles no matter what questions he asked, until she was ready to speak again. Pressing and interrogating would gain him nothing more than a sore head and a thousand useless prophecies confounding the only one he cared about. The same could be said for studying her papers, though he snatched up her freshly written work in the vain hope that he would see something within the script that she had not. Something he could research like a _scientist_ , instead of a magician.

“Nothing is set in stone, my Lord,” concluded the Visionary, eyes drifting back to her pages, as though she hadn’t noticed the ones he had taken. Her voice was faraway again, unfocused and inattentive. Dismissive, even. “It matters only what you make of their fate.”

The Lord President left without another word, robes billowing behind him, the door swinging shut behind him with a bang. He _would_ make sense of this, and do what he must to ensure that his suspicions did not come to pass. There were ways to tether even the most wayward of children to responsibility. To Gallifrey. If the prophecy did, indeed, speak of Rodageitmososa and himself, then he would ensure that she would not have the freedom to bring it to pass, whatever it took. Even if it meant she remained in Gallifrey for the rest of her lives. He would _not_ fall, and certainly not at the hands of his own ward.

His survival would have to go in front of any fondness he had begun to develop for the girl. He reminded himself as he walked that taking her in had been a political act; not one of kindness. No matter how he might feel, she was no replacement for his son, and far from the child a Time Lord parent should wish for. And yet, he had found her help in the workshop invaluable, and when she applied herself, he was even proud.

Regardless; he would have to control her. Better enforce his wishes, and turn her towards his plans. He would think on the matter, perhaps meditate. Even the most uncouth of Tots could rise to greatness - it was in their DNA. And Rodageitmososa came from a good House, and the best Chapter. Her grades were passable, her wits sharp. _Even her creativity reminds me of a certain engineer of old._ So long as she never found out what the Visionary had foretold, he doubted that she would ever, truly, bite the hand that had raised her. And even if she did… what cause would she have to rise against him? None, nor the mettle to oppose him.

As the cool night air hit his face, he had begun to consider that perhaps it was all an overreaction. Little more than an old man’s paranoia.

“The child will return,” he mumbled, “but not to home.” Running his hand through his hair, he paused in the doorway just long enough to set his jaw, and then headed for his home. “And the guardian will fall to ruin… it is but one future.”

Behind him, he could swear he felt the Visionary’s eyes on his retreating back, and shook his head. _But one future._ One he would not allow to come to pass.


	3. Deus in Absentia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had been nothing but generous. Rassilon the Great knew better than Rodageitmososa the Orphan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene set just after Chapter 15 of "There, and Back Again". 
> 
> Most of the stuff involving Omega and Rassilon is inspired by the Big Finish audios.

_“You're so goddamn frail  
Failing for a change  
You just had to know all about the world  
But you will never know  
'Cause no one ever told you how.”_  
**— Deus in Absentia, Ghost**

He waited, after Rodageitmososa departed, for a long time. And then the Lord President of Gallifrey - tired, angry and out of ideas - turned on his heel and strode deeper into the Panopticon.

The young Time Lady - no longer a Tot, as she was so often wont to remind him - has become the bane of his existence since she had come into his care. _So much like her mother… not enough like her father._ She was wilful, unpredictable and insolent, and keeping tabs on her was like trying to track a herd of vortisaurs on an irregular migration. No matter how hard he tried to steer her down a certain path, no matter how he condemned or praised her achievements, she was determined to make his plans as difficult to attain as she could possibly - inadvertently - manage. He should have washed his hands of her years ago and commended her to the dormitories of the Academy. Let _them_ deal with her disobedience and her commitment to failing despite every opportunity he had afforded her. And yet he could not, and it infuriated him. _She_ infuriated him. So much like another young Time Lord he had once known so well…

He stood in the centre of his fellow founders, clenching and unclenching his fists. _No,_ he thought ruefully, _I should not have choked her. It will not be easy to regain her trust, now._

But the problem was that she had learned, by instinct, both how to push his buttons and when to play by his rules. In a sense, it impressed him; today, however, it had been little more than a humiliation. As though she had planned it from the beginning. He had briefed her on what today’s session was to be about, and what she was expected to say. He had made his stance on the matter _abundantly_ clear, and she should have been prepared for others in the Council to agree with him regardless of her own immature feelings on the matter. She wasn’t stupid. She was far more wily than she gave herself credit for. There were _reasons_ he had wanted to raise her and place her in the position that he had, and if she would only get her head out of the atmosphere then perhaps she could have swallowed her pride and appreciated that. Instead she had struck back today in a way that she never had before, and she had made him lose his temper.

Yes. It was _her_ fault. He had been nothing but generous. Rassilon the Great knew better than Rodageitmososa the Orphan.

Eyes drilled into the back of his head, and Rassilon found himself turning to face the immense statue standing directly behind him. His lips pursed, and his eyes darkened, and he couldn’t help but snap once again; thudding his staff upon the ground as though to intimidate the dead.

“And what would you have me do, Peylix? What would _you_ do better?”

Omega looked down on him with his usual scrutiny. Rassilon scowled. He had never liked how the statue followed him, watched him, towered over him. As if Omega - as if _Peylix_ had ever been greater than him. Today, though, his expression was different. Disdainful, almost. He knew that Omega was dead - or rather, as good as, trapped within the second of the star’s ending that he had tried to harness - and that he had not witnessed his lapse in decorum. But he still sometimes felt his companion’s mind pressing against his own, all fury and judgement and betrayal. He felt it more keenly in this moment and as he glared at the statue he wondered - not for the first time - if his pact with that worm Vandekirian had been the right decision after all.

With a dismissive growl he turned his back on Omega, and paced around the ring as he stroked his chin. He was allowing his mind to wander, and there was no sense in regretting something he had done so many centuries ago. It had been done for the betterment of his career and for the betterment of _Gallifrey._ He would not be judged by a ghost in a black star anymore than he would be judged by the child. And yet the latter reminded him so much of the former, and he knew it well.

He had first noticed it when she had stumbled into his workshop and assimilated herself into the role of his assistant like it had been made for her. It was not something he had ever anticipated - certainly not with her professors’ reports on her conduct and grades - but he had surprised himself by finding it endearing. _Just like another solar engineer I knew so well._ And so he had humoured both her interest and his own curiosity and allowed her to work with him. Used it both as the proverbial carrot and stick in raising her. He had tried to convince himself that his only motive was in using it to encourage her to apply herself at the Academy, but it was a well-rehearsed lie. She asked too many questions - just like Peylix - and she experimented - just like Peylix - and she was stubborn - just like Peylix. And when she was not annoying him, he appreciated her company - just like Peylix’s.

“She is too like you, old friend.”

It was that stubborn streak that was so similar to his old friend’s that would also be the death of her _._ And so too late, he had realised that while cultivating her interest in economics and her respect for him was vital to his plans, he also had to keep her at arm’s length. He was too old and too important to be getting sentimental. But each time he managed to rise above his pathos she would do something so colossally idiotic that it rivaled even Peylix’s nerve and he would lose his temper and forget that _Rodageitmososa_ was not his child.

His son had died long ago, in the war with the Vampires; she was not a replacement, only a new opportunity. Yet he had found himself fearing for her when she had tried to look into the future of her regenerations, and proud of her when she surpassed her contemporaries behind the helm of a TARDIS. If he tried to show it, she let overconfidence get the better of her and if he concealed it, she closed herself to him. The balancing act of what should have been the simple rearing of an orphan Tot turned into a near impossible task.

He had not meant to strike her. He was _better_ than that. But it was Cardinal Luvis and his accursed omega grade all over again. Had Peylix been less pontifical and cocksure, Luvis might not have failed him those millennia ago and pushed his old friend into the depths of ‘madness and pure idiocy’ that the professor had accused him of. Likewise, if Rodageitmososa did not reign in her rebellion and her foolish ideals she, too, would fall from grace and no doubt cross a line he could not even comprehend of her!

With a frustrated sigh, Rassilon sat down on the steps facing Omega’s statue and massaged his temple. Something would have to be done about her behaviour today, and he could think of no way to do so without her turning her back on him for good. _Perhaps,_ he mused, _my actions today have simply assured that she already has._

“Three centuries of erudition and refinement,” he complained, as though Omega could hear him. “And I have in my keep a ward who does not respect Gallifrey, rises to the bare minimum of provocation and has no understanding of her own responsibility or potential. Can I even call myself Lord President if I cannot reign in one child?” The statue, of course, was silent. Rassilon huffed with frustration. “Of course, were you here I am certain you would find the situation entirely risible. What advice would you give me, Peylix?” He looked up. “One Tot is not harder to decipher than stellar manipulation, surely.”

But no advice came, and no advice ever would again, thanks to him. Rassilon closed his eyes, and for a moment imagined a Gallifrey where he had acted differently. Where he and Omega ruled side by side. Would it have been easier, or would they just have come to blows as well? They were too similar, Peylix and he. Always had been, except where it mattered. Rassilon stretched his neck - allowing himself this moment of freedom, a lapse in decorum - and pulled a wistful face. 

Who had fallen into whose bed first? He no longer remembered. But he could remember the feeling of Peylix beneath him, and the shallow protests he would make even while he was keening for more. He remembered how Peylix had kissed him, for the first time, when they had spent four straight days fixing an error in their calculations and he had been too tired to think of why he shouldn’t. And he remembered, too - his shoulders slumping as he did so - how they had fought and shouted and drifted apart. How their interests and priorities had ceased to align, and why he had done what he had done for the greater good.

His, or Gallifrey’s? It was a question he asked himself often.

 _Well._ Rassilon pulled old and weary bones to their feet, leaning on his staff and looking at his gauntlet again. There would be time enough for regret later. Regret for lashing out, then _and_ now. Right now, he had to deal with the problem at hand, and that problem was what had happened in the Council meeting today. Both Rodageitmososa’s insubordination and his response. He would have to talk to her, and neither of them were going to like it. Rassilon rolled his eyes, and gave Omega’s statue one last look before he began to walk away. _You would be impressed,_ he thought, in its direction, _at her capacity to infuriate and befog me. Would that you could deal with this mess tonight instead of me._

Space. If he gave her space, and spoke to her in the morning, perhaps she would be more contrite and open to listening. It would give him some time to think of what to say, as well.

The long way home, then.


	4. Don't Tell Me What the Poets Are Doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from after the epilogue of "[A Year To Forget](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580301/chapters/67521605)".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from [Poets](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_RSJ6xuHbE) by The Tragically Hip. There is some mature content in this chapter, but it mostly fades to black.

Hours later — when the boys had gone home, and the Hub was quiet — Jack dropped down into his bed, and found Roda reading a book with a tired expression on his face.

She looked up as he appeared, and smiled weakly. Jack chuckled, and gestured for her to shuffle up and give him some room. Sticking what looked suspiciously like a leaf between the pages by way of a bookmark, Roda put down her reading and lay back on the bed.

“Ordinarily,” said Jack, with a smirk, “I’d at least offer to buy you a drink before expecting to find you in my bed.”

Roda snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Come off it. The bed wasn’t even made.”

“That’s why I’d buy you a drink,” argued Jack, lying down beside her, both of them fully-clothed. “‘Cause when we got back, Ianto’d have the bed made, and then I’d say ‘fancy a coffee?’ and you’d say-”

“That Ianto making coffee so  _ you  _ can get laid is pretty cheeky, even for you,” interrupted Roda, with a laugh. “Oh Jack. I’ve missed you.”

“Want to do something about that?”

“Well, I’m  _ here, _ aren’t I?”

And she had a point. Jack sighed, folding his arms behind his head. He had half expected her to make herself scarce not long after the Doctor turned up to pick up Alex. Roda had put up with being introduced to Alice and by the time the Doctor appeared, she had  _ almost  _ seemed comfortable playing with the kid. But the Doctor had taken one look at her and pulled her off her feet and into a delighted hug, and Jack could tell it had been the breaking point in her veneer of calm.

She had made a flimsy excuse about checking the vault and scarpered. The Doctor had looked like a kicked puppy, until Alex started talking a mile a minute about how the day had gone and distracted him. Jack hadn’t missed the tension between them, though, and had filed it away as something to talk to her about another day.  _ Blame the Master for now _ , he told himself.

He’d gone looking for her in the vault once everyone was gone, but hadn’t been able to find her. Gwen had said something about seeing her heading out, and her TARDIS was gone from his office, and then he’d been swept up in things that needed done, and almost forgotten her visit.

It was remarkable how good she was at not being seen, when she wanted to. Even by him. Jack could only guess when she’d returned, but he was glad that she had.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Roda rolled onto her side to face Jack, tipping her head to one side. “About… what?” she asked, carefully.

“Today?” Roda’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Alright, then. Where you’ve been? How long you’ve been gone? Any good-looking aliens you met on your travels?”

“Here and there,” said Roda, smugly, “and I lost count of how long. A couple of weeks?”

Jack touched her cheek.

“You’ve been gone two years.”

Leaning into his touch, Roda pulled an apologetic face. “Yeah, I… noticed. The Tot. He’s grown.” She bit her lip. “I  _ aimed  _ for a couple of weeks, but I guess my TARDIS had other plans. I’m sorry.”

“Do you actually pilot a TARDIS,” asked Jack, casually; he knew there was little point arguing with Time Lords and their TARDIS, and Roda wouldn’t have left forever without saying  _ something, _ “or do they pilot  _ you _ ? Cause for  _ Time  _ Lords, you and the Doctor are  _ awful  _ with dates.”

“It’s a bit of both,” admitted Roda, cheerfully. And then her expression changed, and she lowered her voice. “Am I forgiven?”

“Make the coffee run tomorrow, and I think everyone’ll just be happy to see you back.”

“And you?”

“That depends.” At Roda’s look of deepening concern, Jack could only laugh.  _ I can’t stay angry at her. Anyway, I’d be a hypocrite.  _ “I mean, you didn’t answer the question about the good-looking aliens. Have I been replaced? Did I miss a steamy threesome?”

“You’re incorrigible!” groaned Roda, thumping him in the shoulder. Jack pretended to be badly hurt, and she rolled her eyes at him. She nestled back into the bed, but shuffled closer, so that their arms were touching. “Anyway, I mostly spent my time in the forest…”

He didn’t need to ask  _ which  _ forest. With Roda, there was only ever one forest. (She wasn’t allowed to choose the film for movie night, anymore. It inevitably would be either Robin Hood, or something that had a bow on the cover, or something about overthrowing a government, or all three. Honestly, if she was going to stay with him, he was going to have to work on her pop culture knowledge.) He knew that Sherwood held a special place in Roda’s heart; he knew, too, that she couldn’t really go back. Not the way she wanted to, not with a new face. But the trees helped her clear her head, and goodness knew she’d needed that, after the Year. It explained the paint, too. She’d not done that in a while.

Seeing her slipping back into her thoughts, Jack smiled fondly. She had a cute look on this face, when she was thinking. But he had a couple of ideas of his own about how to take her mind off things.

They could talk about  _ today  _ tomorrow.

“So…” Jack rested a hand on her neck.

Roda frowned. “So... _ what _ ?”

“Hard day at work, looking after the kids, doing all my paperwork…” Jack’s hand trailed from Roda’s jaw to her clavicle, memorizing her, and then slipped under the lapels of her shirt when he saw her breath hitch. “And then I go to my room-”

“S’hardly a  _ room… _ ”

“And there’s a gorgeous Time Lady in my bed.” His fingers played with the clasp of her bra, pulling her against him. “Are you my reward for good behaviour?”

Roda’s mouth was against his Adam’s apple, one leg hooked over his. She rolled her shoulders to give him better access to her back, pressed against him in all the right ways.

“It’s always an invitation with you, Captain.”

“I always ask so nicely…” He rubbed her shoulder blade, felt Roda’s breath on his throat. Felt the warmth and the vibration, the closeness. With her free hand she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, a small frown of concentration on her face as she looked up at him. “So,” he smirked, changing tack. “Interested?”

_ God, I hope she is. I’ve wanted this body for a while... _

Roda grumbled something against his cheek fondly, and then seemed to find the words to answer in English. After all but ripping the buttons of his shirt she tugged his t-shirt over his head. They went from lying down to sitting up, Jack pulling her into his lap as Roda squirmed against him and answered his question with a long, hard kiss.

Jack pulled away only when he needed air, and helped Roda to remove her shirt, pressing a trail of kisses over her small chest. It turned out to be a good move. Roda made an  _ adorable  _ noise and dug her fingertips into his shoulder before burying her face in his neck. He chuckled quietly —  _ what did I do to deserve a sexy Time Lady who’s happy as a cat in my lap? —  _ and gave her more of what she wanted. 

“Tease…” she murmured, breathless. Jack pressed a kiss to the top of her head and laughed.

“Hey. You can’t rush perfection.”

“ _ Skaro,  _ no…” purred Roda. Jack smiled, and returned to the excitement of unwrapping his present.

Roda lifted her hips as he let one hand slip down the waist of her trousers, cupping her arse, and then Jack felt his eyes glaze over as Roda moved  _ just so _ on top of him.  _ And me still in my trousers… Gotta do something about that.  _ It was her turn to laugh, and he shook his head fondly as the pleasure began to rise and the two of them found a pace as though they’d known each other for centuries.

It was a good thing Ianto had gone home for the night. Jack had a feeling that he and Roda were going to be  _ very  _ loud.

***

“What were you reading, anyway?”

After what had been a  _ very  _ enjoyable reacquaintance, Jack reached for the book on the counter as Roda pushed herself onto her elbows and shrugged. “No idea. Pinched it off Tosh’s desk. Not really my kind of thing…” She grinned playfully. “Didn’t expect you to keep me waiting as long as you did.”

Without thinking to check the cover, Jack opened the book to where Roda had stashed her leaf, reading aloud.

“ _ Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul _ ,” he recited, thoughtfully. 

Roda paused. “Hmm. Yeah, that one wasn’t bad. Poetry.”

“ _ And sings the tunes without the words, _ ” continued Jack, “ _ and never stops at all. _ ” With a slight frown, he shut the book on his front and checked the cover. “Emily Dickinson.”  _ Tosh must’ve been making sure there were no more triggers in the system; slow and steady.  _ “You don’t remember her?”

Roda shook her head. “Should I?”

“Roda, you almost  _ died  _ last time we were reading from this book.” Jack shook his head in half-despair. Roda chewed her lip, and then her eyes widened.

“Oh! That’s why it was familiar. To be fair, I wasn’t exactly thinking straight at the time…”

Jack dropped his head into his hand as he put the book down.

“Your sense of self-preservation terrifies me, Roda.”

“Look,” said Roda, easing Jack’s hand away from his face and pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. She moved to sit half in his lap, sheets still loosely around her hips. “I don’t think poetry is going to get me killed any time soon.”

Jack held onto her waist, closing his eyes and sighing. “Promise?”  _ I don’t want her to leave again. _

“I don’t plan on dying any time soon,” promised Roda, quietly. She pulled him into a soft kiss, and then another more insistent one.  _ If she’s trying to distract me,  _ mused Jack,  _ she’s going the right way about it…  _ “I’m back.” She kissed him in between words. “I’m staying. I…”

For a moment, Roda hesitated. Jack opened his eyes. 

“Are you-?”

“You’re home, Jack. Is that alright?” She laughed, blushing not from arousal but from… embarrassment? “Coming back here is coming home. I forgot what it felt like.”

Jack’s expression softened. “You’re an idiot sometimes, Roda.”

Roda frowned. “Way to make a woman feel wanted.”

“No,” Jack laughed. “Of  _ course _ it’s alright. You always have a place here; you know that.”

“I know. I just…. didn’t imagine I ever would again.”

Jack sighed. Yes, he understood that feeling keenly, and he could read between the lines.  _ That said, it’s funny how much more talkative this body of hers is after sex.  _ But he understood what she wasn’t saying. Her exile, the War and the Year That Never Was, everything that Alex was that hurt her even if she hated herself for it. The home that she couldn’t return to even if it  _ was  _ still there. Even Sherwood Forest. He had seen some of her file, knew how much she had moved around in her youth, never calling anywhere home and never sticking around long enough to build a local reputation.  _ It was part of what made her so hard to catch. And why it’s so amazing that she chose to stay, this time.  _

And God knew he was lucky she had chosen here. He knew that what he was was… hard for a Time Lord to handle. The Doctor had made that clear, and the Master with his ‘Freak’ nickname. But Roda — and Alex, too — had never treated him like an anomaly. They treated him like a person (even if gaining Roda’s trust had been a task all by itself). But she was good friend, an  _ excellent  _ lover and the kind of field agent Torchwood could have killed for.  _ But she doesn’t see herself as ‘anybody’. What am I missing from the story? Who made her feel that way? _

It was a mystery to solve another day. For now he kissed her again and rested his back against the wall, tired out by the love-making. Roda curled up in his lap, head on his shoulder, and stifled a yawn. Jack stoked her hair, and wondered if she’d slept, recently. 

“Right.” Roda raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to fall asleep on me — in which case, I’d appreciate being horizontal — or,” he winked, “do you need me to tire you out more?”

Laughter brought tears to Roda’s eyes, followed by another yawn. She peeled herself off Jack and lay down on the bed (which was really only big enough for two people who didn’t mind sharing one space), making room for him. Jack paused just long enough to unbuckle his vortex manipulator and put it on the shelf beside the book of poetry, and then rolled over and pulled Roda close against him. She didn’t resist and closed her eyes, breath slowing almost immediately as she let herself accept the safe haven.

Jack stayed awake just long enough to make sure Roda was sleeping soundly before carefully wriggling free one hand and turning out the light.

_ Hope isn’t the only thing with feathers that perches in the soul. I have my own Redjay, right here. _

As he drifted off to sleep, Jack couldn’t help but smile. The team was back together again. All six of them. Their world was changing, but they’d weather what came together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Hope” is the thing with feathers -  
>  That perches in the soul -  
> And sings the tune without the words -  
> And never stops - at all -_
> 
> _And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -  
>  And sore must be the storm -  
> That could abash the little Bird  
> That kept so many warm -_
> 
> _I’ve heard it in the chillest land -  
>  And on the strangest Sea -  
> Yet - never - in Extremity,  
> It asked a crumb - of me._  
>  **\- “Hope” is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson**


	5. Waffle-Ironing Out the Kinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before today, Rodageitmososa hadn’t been able to conceive of any way that trying to pick up a pizza could have gone so disastrously wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set somewhere between "Alien Abduction" and "To Save a Life". Warnings for strong language, and cartoon violence.

Before today, Rodageitmososa hadn’t been able to conceive of any way that trying to pick up a pizza could have gone so disastrously wrong.

After the third time that somebody had attempted to order pizza under the name of ‘Torchwood’ - that person being, in order, Owen, Owen and then they were beginning to think a blowfish trying to cause them trouble, but some fingers were still pointed at Owen - it had been agreed that pizza was either _not_ on the menu for long weekends at the Hub, or had to be ordered by Ianto. Ianto who - Jack had declared, his head in his hands - was the only one of them capable of using a telephone properly.

Roda had tried to argue that in several hundred years of being alive, she’d never _needed_ a mobile phone before. A fact that Jack had informed her just made her even less qualified to order take-out.

Today, though, they had all had a very specific hankering for something smothered in cheese. With Jack and Gwen off fighting weevils and, thus, not there to tell them that it wasn’t allowed, pizza had been put back on the menu, on the condition that it arrive at the Hub frozen and microwaveable. Once they had drawn straws to see who had to go the job had fallen to Roda; who Rhys had given a ten minute lecture on why she had to use _real_ money, this time, as though she wasn’t old enough to be his great, great, many times great grandmother.

Ianto had been hesitant, but it meant that he could catch up on paperwork, and so he’d left the Time Lady to it. There were several hours to go until people would be needing to eat and anything went wrong she knew how to handle herself. And after all - she had a TARDIS.

 _And it had been a good night, too,_ she mused, trying her best to ignore the way that the biting wind was making the fresh cut on her head sting even more than it had to. _At least until_ he _had turned up._

Next time, she decided, Ianto could pick up food.

***

Three large cheese pizzas, some anchovies for Gwen to toss on her side of one of them, and a handful of assorted meats. _And maybe some beer._ Roda ran the shopping list over and over in her mind as she tried to make head or tail or the first TESCOs her TARDIS had decided to take her to in the correct year. It was, apparently, in London; and it was _enormous_. Roda - who had grown used to eating whatever happened to be available wherever she was, and still hadn’t adjusted to the idea of regular grocery shopping - stood in the doorway with a basket for what felt like hours, trying to decide which way to go first.

It wasn’t the _best_ use of her abilities, but a quick surface scan of the shoppers passing her by (and muttering about how she was blocking the entrance) had her setting off in the right direction, and she tried not to roll her eyes. She dug around in her back pocket for a wallet she’d gotten on Arcadia, so long ago she scarcely remembered when, and set off at a brisk walk. The sooner she was out of crowds, the better.

Having a salary was almost as strange as doing the shopping, but Jack had been insistent that if she was going to work with Torchwood, it be above board. _‘All the better,’_ he had explained, _‘to make sure no one in upper management throws a fit about a Time Lord helping us out.’_ Apparently that was ‘stepping on UNIT’s toes’ in some way, but the Doctor had been just as persistent as Jack and Roda (who would rather have not been known to be _anywhere_ at all) had decided that it was a battle she couldn’t be bothered fighting.

And so the money went into a savings account she hardly paid attention to, and sometimes she dipped into it when it was her turn to buy the drinks - or the pizza. On paper, she was Ianto’s replacement as dogsbody. But she was sure she’d never get used to being more than a thief and an exile.

With the pizzas, meat and anchovies in her basket (and the beer to come from another store), she had been heading towards the till when the sight of someone checking out some kind of state of the art waffle iron wiped the smile right off her face. Reaching the self check-out meant passing a display of toaster ovens and electric kettles and other kitchen paraphernalia that was apparently ‘40% off this week only’, in front of which was standing…

“What the hell are you doing, here?”

The Master lowered the box he’d been reading the back of and stared at Roda with an expression of surprise and displeasure that was equal to her own. He looked her up and down, as if trying to decide if she was a figment of his imagination.

“Buying a waffle iron. What are _you_ doing here?”

They both looked down at the sleek red box in the Master’s hands, although Roda suspected they were both having very different thoughts. Hers were, _at least he has to put that down if he wants to draw a weapon on me_ , with a side of, _I_ _’ll have to drop the pizzas, too._ But they were in public, in the twenty first century, and although Roda had never exactly _promised_ the Doctor that she wouldn’t do something rash if she happened to bump into the Master… well, no part of her felt much like having to explain to a child that she’d killed his father in the middle of TESCOs.

That, and she still wasn’t sure if she _did_ want to kill him. It was complicated. It would always be complicated.

“If you’re not going to answer me…”

The Master made the final decision for her. With a haughty sniff, he stepped to one side, intending to go around her and about his business. Well aware that she would kick herself in the morning, Roda shoved her basket under her arm and moved with him, blocking his path. She raised an eyebrow, and considered snatching the box out of the Master’s hands before coming to the conclusion that it would get her nowhere. _And_ , she chastised herself, _it would be_ beyond _petty._

“Why do _you_ want a waffle iron?”

The Master rolled his eyes condescendingly.

“What does it matter to you?” He shook his head. “It’s not as though I’m going to be teaching the boy to make poison waffles.” A pause, and then his face broke into a broad, slightly manic grin. “Actually, I could use that.” He turned over the box, studying the picture of a waffle iron intently and making a point of not actually _looking_ at Roda. “Redjay, darling, you simply _must_ come for breakfast one day.” Roda narrowed her eyes. “Lucy will make waffles.”

“Wasn’t poisoning me _once_ bad enough?” asked Roda, snappishly. The Master raised one finger, tsking.

“Now, now, that was poor _Tish_ , remember? I had absolutely nothing to do with that.”

“Right. And the fact that I was imprisoned on _your_ ship…?”

“Minor details,” chuckled the Master. “Give me some credit. I’m sure I would have poisoned you _much_ more creatively than she did.”

“Like with waffles.”

“Honestly,” he snorted, “I’d say you deserve something a bit more elegant than _that_.” He paused again. “And Lucy really _does_ make spectacular waffles.”

“I think I’ll pass all the same,” said Roda, sardonically. “If that’s fine by you.”

“By all means. Please never darken my doorstep. Now, may I _leave_ , or did you want to try and make _more_ awkward pleasantries?”

With a bit of a start, Roda realised that this was the first time that the two of them had met ‘in the wild’, as it were, for several hundred years. It was also the first time they’d met while both of them were dressed in what she could loosely call ‘civilian’ clothing. She’d only ever seen the Master dressed as ‘Harold Saxon’ on television, and she’d warrant that he’d _never_ seen her dressed in comfortable clothing from this time period, as opposed to her usual get-up (what Tosh called ‘steampunk’, once). Of course, looks could be deceiving; Roda had no doubt that they were both, still, armed. But a comfortable sweater somehow seemed to make the Master look _more_ threatening. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Although…” Roda tilted her head to one side, as the Master gestured at the basket tucked under her arm. “Now _I_ _’m_ curious. What _are_ you here for?”

Roda pursed her lips. “Buying dinner.”

The Master reached out, snatching one of the frozen pizzas out of her basket before she could move to stop him. “ _Three_ pizzas? What,” he smirked viciously, “are you eating for _two_ , now? Figured it out?”

“They’re not just for _me,_ ” she grumbled, _no thanks to you._ “Some of us don’t need to wait for good behaviour to be allowed out to play.”

Irritation - or anger - crossed the Master’s face for just a moment. Roda couldn’t help but grin; it felt nice to be the one poking a nerve, for once. But the moment passed quicker than she would have liked, and the Master tossed the pizza back at her lazily.

“You’re getting almost as fond of those monkeys as the Doctor is, these days,” he commented, rudely. “It’s almost touching.”

A couple of unflattering responses came to mind - not least of all ‘well, you married one of them’ - but Roda bit her tongue. It had only taken a few centuries to learn; and besides, ‘those monkeys’ were her friends, some of them - just Jack, really - her family. Deciding that she’d had enough of humouring the Master or trying to see what evil plan he had going on today - _perhaps he really_ is _just here to buy a waffle iron_ \- Roda moved to put her back to the nearest display shelf, gesturing for the Master to walk on by to the till.

But he didn’t move. Roda scowled, and moved the groceries to hold them in front of her, almost like a shield.

“I thought you were in a hurry.”

“Oh, I was,” the Master shrugged. “But winding you up is worth being late for supper.”

“Oh, screw you…” Roda threw a hand in the air in exasperation. “Does the Doctor know what kind of scenes you’re making while you’re out on parole?”

“The Doctor,” and there was the temper Roda had met so well, on many occasions, “Has no way of making me stay at home and twiddle my thumbs.”

With the waffle iron under his arm he reached out to grip Roda’s shoulder in a vice grip with a mock-gentle pat, making the sentence seem joking, friendly, familiar. Startled, Roda accidentally dropped the basket as she grasped his wrist with wide eyes, wrenching it away and giving him a shove. She heard muttering as somebody passed them, but paid them no heed, crouching down to pick it up and trying not to let the Master see how it had gotten to her. She bared her teeth, trying to shoo his hand away as he crouched to ‘help’ her and he smiled, evidentially pleased to have spooked her. “No way can he enforce it, anyway. And since the government’s little court case came to a _unanimous_ verdict of not guilty of first degree murder…” The sentence trailed off pointedly, and the Master shrugged. “Harold _Saxon_ can do whatever he likes.”

Standing up, Roda stamped on his fingers for good measure. The Master grimaced, and she checked the boxes to see if they were too badly dented to be worth buying; mind you, she was about ready to just take them and _run._ They had taken a hell of a fall, and they were completely bent out of shape, but they’d still cook. Tempting though it was to pretend that she’d found them that way, and try to get a discount…

“A jury _you,_ ” she prodded the Master in the chest, “rigged.”

“Rigged is such a… clean word.”

Roda narrowed her eyes. “What did you-?”

“I hypnotised them. Much easier than haggling, and human brains are _so_ easy to toy with. After all,” his eyes twinkled, “we’re _Time Lords._ ”

And he had, Roda was forced to concede, a damning point. Guilt gripped her hearts like a vice. She had been so caught up in grieving, in Torchwood and in The Year That Never Was, that it had never occurred to her that with Gallifrey gone… _who_ was the law unto Time Lords? Unto the Master, the Doctor, her and onto - one of these days - young Alexander? It was a large part of the reason she had never gone home, even if she had been _allowed_ to. Part of the reason she had left, before her exile. She remembered Rassilon’s words, sharp and clear at the back of her mind so long ago.

> _"Then you will abide by my law on all of Gallifrey,_ _” replied Rassilon sternly, taking her chin in one hand and turning her to look at him again. His grip was so tight it almost bruised. Roda raised both eyebrows, and even that felt like too much effort. “Just as every other Time Lord before you has been content to do.”_

But _she_ had never been content. Not since the Untempered Schism. Even when she thought that all she’d wanted to do was to rise to Rassilon’s expectations and make him proud… and hearing it from the Master’s lips, from the words of an enemy, just drove home exactly how _wrong_ it had always been.

The Master flexed his aching finger, waiting to see if Roda took the bait. Roda snarled exasperatedly, throwing the pizzas at her basket and muttering under her breath.

“What was that?” asked the Master, sweetly?

“I _said_ ,” snapped Roda, coldly, “that I’d turn you into the police my _self_ if I thought I could get away with it.”

The Master laughed like a hyena, covering his face with his good hand as he did his best to get his mirth under control.

“Oh, to be a fly on the wall for _that_ call!” He shook his head, gesturing as though he was holding a phone to his ear. “’999, can I speak to the police please? Only, ex-prime minister Harold Saxon is really an alien and he hypnotised you all! I thought you might like to know’. Just think,” He tapped his bottom lip, “Maybe they’ll lock you up instead; crazy animal that you are.”

“You’re not the _only_ one who can use telepathy.”

“And after you’ve _just_ done trying to lecture me on morals? For shame, Roda.”

“Redjay.” It was a reflex.

“ _Always_ so sensitive!”

“We’re not _friends_.”

“Oh, no.” The Master beamed. “Our relationship is _far_ too intimate for that.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I don’t _break_ my friends.”

“Oh,” Roda made a fist, “don’t _tempt_ me.”

“Always with that short _fuse_ of yours, Roda.” She closed the gap between them as they spoke, so near that she could feel his breath on her face, feel the tips of his toes against hers. “If you’re not careful, you might get kicked out of _this_ home, too.”

There was a line that wasn’t to be crossed. The Doctor left it alone, Jack didn’t ask about any more than Roda had told him about, and the Master had pushed and pushed and pushed at that line, throughout The Year That Never Was, until he had learned things about Roda’s past that she had never wanted him to know. She hated that he had seen things, seen her weakest moments, the times when she had not been at her best. She hated that he, more than anybody else still alive in the universe, knew exactly what buttons to press.

Her body tensed, memories of the war and Gallifrey and that year threatening to bring her temper to a boil. And the Master’s breath, for just an instant (but one that she didn’t _miss_ ), caught in his throat, his hearts racing. Roda craned her neck to meet his gaze.

“I’m leaving,” she said, calmly. “And you won’t follow me, and this never happened.”

The waffle iron was trapped between their chests, muffling their heartbeats. The Master leaned in to whisper in her ear, rocking on his toes. “But Redjay… you’re simply looking too healthy for your own good. I must do something about that.”

Taking a deep breath, Roda barged past the Master, pushing him with her shoulder. She forced herself to start walking away without looking back - _pretend your back isn_ _’t to him, remember he can’t shoot you in a TESCOs_ \- and to put distance between them, making for the self-serve check-outs as fast as her legs could carry her without making a fuss.

« _Don_ _’t do this,_ » she sent, telepathically, not turning her head. « _I don_ _’t want a fight._ »

« _And neither do I,_ » declared the Master. Roda could hear him walking behind her. « _It simply wouldn_ _’t be fair_ terms.»

« _Then you can just-_ »

With hindsight, she should have seen the waffle iron coming. She heard the box whistle as it swung towards her head, and managed to turn her body just in time for it to catch her shoulder, instead. She bit her lip - hard enough to draw blood - and took a few swifts steps down the aisle they had found themselves at the end of, getting ready to make a run for it - pride be damned - when the Master grabbed the tail of her coat and yanked it fresh of her shoulders with a fearful cry that was absolutely _impossible_ for anyone to miss.

“Gun!” He yelled. Roda swore as her jacket - buttons skittering across the ground - pulled away, doing nothing at all to hide the revolver holstered on her hip. The way it was ripped from her shoulders made her trip, and a display of the same waffle irons hit the ground with a deafening thud as they crashed and split. “She has a _gun_!”

Roda hissed at him, her arm almost beginning to go limp. “You bloody _bastard._ ”

«Clever _bastard,_ » argued the Master. « _Why not take advantage of what I_ know _?_ » Out loud, he added: “And it’s always fun to cause you and the freak a little trouble.”

 _Jack is going to_ kill _me when he hears what_ _’s happened._ Both of their shopping completely abandoned, the two Time Lords stared each other down in the aisle amongst the debris of the start of their skirmish. Around them, the grocery store began to go half wild. While some of the shoppers had smartly turned and run for the exit (all around the TESCOs) others had stopped to stare at them, thinking that they’d stumbled onto the set of a new movie or television show. Roda could see camera phones coming out, as well as security guards sprinting in their direction. _Neither of which I want to see my face._

She did the first thing that came to mind to cover her face, and dove for the Master. Their last fight, back on the Valiant, hadn’t gone well, but this time she was only trying to buy herself some _time._ Taking a run, she rammed the Master with the shoulder that he had swung at, reasoning that colliding with it again would hurt less than injuring the _other_ one. The Master’s arms pinwheeled like a cartoon character’s as he lost his balance and fell backwards, trying to catch hold of her front to stop himself from falling.

Roda was having none of it. As he reached forward and stepped _back_ , she kicked out her ankle and _yanked_ , hooking one of his feet with her own. As she just started to hear the sound of security shouting at them and the raucous applause of their small crowd the Master staggered back-first into a precarious pyramid of some kind of canned fruit while Roda landed on the edge of - and promptly fell _into_ \- an open-top freezer full of bagged vegetables. She yelped as ice went down her back, squirming as she tried to catch sight of the state the Master was in over legs sprawled out akimbo, and scrambled madly for her revolver. She wouldn’t use it, but if she could cover her face and wave it around, maybe she would be able to make it to the door…?

The Master tried to get to his feet, but caught a rolling tin underfoot and hit the ground again with a meaty slap. Despite the situation, Roda had to stifle a laugh that earned her a scowl hot enough, she was sure, to burn a hole in the freezer. She grabbed the edge of it with both hands, freezer burn agitating her hands, and attempted to pull herself out of it with about as much grace as the Master had on the ground. They were both panting, both bloodied and uncomfortable, and just as Roda managed to shuffle to the edge of the freezer and sit on the rim, catching her breath, the Master managed to pull himself to his feet with the nearest (destroyed) shelf.

For a moment, there was calm. People had begun to realise there were no cameras - and that even if they were hidden, the TESCOs probably wouldn’t be open for filming - and were beginning to scatter in a second wave. Over the racket of the panicking crowd the Master gave an over-weary sigh and tapped the side of his thigh with exaggerated ceremony.

To Roda’s horror, the crowd froze like puppets with cut strings. One by one, people started picking up the same steady _tap tap tap tap_ that Roda had learned to dread on the Valiant, that turned her blood to ice every time her hearts were racing at _just_ the right tempo. The beat spread out like a disease as the Master pouted at her, obviously put out.

“You always spoil my fun.” He brushed himself off, rooting through the boxes of waffle irons until he found one that looked to be still in more or less one piece. He studied a few small cuts and bruises on his hands and rubbed his hip, and then made an ‘aha’ noise as he found a suitable box. Though he was no longer drumming, the sound of the still bodies around Roda still keeping the beat shocked her into staying where she was sat, horrified by the implication of his too-casual flex of his skills and remaining resources.

“How – how – how did you do that?”

“Oh, the Doctor didn’t let you thieves in Torchwood take away _all_ of my toys.”

Roda began to back away from the Master, snatching the pizzas - _fuck the anchovies and beer -_ from where they had fallen and making for the till. She rustled through the pocket of her jeans for a wad of notes (far much more than they cost) and stuffed them between her lips as she pizzas went under one arm, determined to keep one hand on her gun so that the Master wouldn’t go for her. But he seemed satisfied enough with the chaos he’d already caused, and didn’t even say a word as Roda made it to the closest cash register and threw the notes and coins she onto the conveyor belt with evident unease.

As she cast her gaze back to the Master he waved dismissively at her, giving her his _permission_ to leave.

“I suggest you run before I change my mind.” The whole store was tapping now; Roda closed her eyes against the memories, her whole face scrunching up, and settled on what looked like the fastest route to the door with the lowest chance of being shot in the back in her retreat. “The Doctor will be _quite upset_ if he has to bail us both out of prison tonight, not to mention your _boss_.”

As Roda reached the exit and the chill of the evening flushed her face, she swore - even over the noise - that she could hear the Master snap his fingers and _sense_ the triumphant look on his face. She shook her head and tugged her shirt down to cover the gun as she made a beeline for her TARDIS and hoped that nothing else would go wrong before she reached it.

The last thing she heard as she disappeared into the night was the Master sweetly asking if he should take the waffle iron or just an empty box to the till…


	6. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day of school for Alexander Saxon. Which means new friends...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between Chapter 4 and 5 of 'Not the Last'.

Matt would always remember his first day in ‘big school’.

It was all rather daunting (even though he knew he was one of the eldest ones there, having already turned five), but the little girl next to him, who was called Natalie and wore a yellow bow in her hair, started crying so he had to try to be brave and tell her how everything was going to be OK. Really he was just repeating what his mother had told _him_ when _he_ had been about to cry, but by talking to Natalie he found out that she had a dog called Buster, and that yellow was her favourite colour and her grandma, who was from somewhere called ‘the West Indies’, was going to pick her up at the end of the day. Matt didn’t know anyone who had family from the West Indies and thought Natalie was very lucky. Nor did he know where the West Indies was located (he’d have to go look on a Tube map when he got home), but it sounded much more interesting than Edgware.

Happy that he had made at least one friend, the first break time would prove to change everything…

As they all cautiously sized each other up, little gangs having already been formed, they were distracted by a voice ringing out.

Turning, he saw a small blond boy standing on one of the benches.

“Hello! Listen! Has anyone seen Star Trek? TV show or movies, doesn’t matter. Anyone?”

There was a pause as the assembled kids, shy and uncomfortable in new uniforms and unfamiliar surroundings, didn’t know how to react.

After a moment Matt put his hand up, as he’d seen a bit of one of the movies once when he’d had a nightmare and dad had allowed him to snuggle up on the sofa whilst dad watched a film, which had been called Star Trek. His father had said something about how it was an old TV show and stuff, but Matt had liked the shiny space ships and the cool characters.

Another brown-haired boy also put his hand up, and after another moment of waiting the blond kid nodded.“Fine — you two, come with me.”

Unsure what was happening Matt followed, shooting the other brown-haired boy a cautious look. He didn’t remember his name, but Matt’s mother had noticed him, saying something to one of the other mums about how she’d take him home too in a heartbeat, he was that adorable. Then she’d told Matt off for wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Having found a quiet corner, the blond boy turned to them and looked them over.

“Three of us. That’s a nice number. I’m Alex. You’re Matt, right, and you’re Josh.”

They both nodded, and then Josh spoke up:

“What are you doing?”

Alex tilted his head.

“I want to play Star Trek. But it’s much easier if you already know about it. So, I’m Spock — he’s the cool alien who uses his brains.”

He turned to Matt.

“You were looking after Natalie, right? You can be Bones — he’s the doctor. And Josh, you’re very good looking, so you can be Kirk. We could do with some more characters really… Natalie would make a good Uhura and a Scotty would be nice too, but for now this’ll do. Right. Now this is the Enterprise, and this is the bridge.” He marked it out, as they nodded. “I’m the captain, obviously, and we’re heading for a whole new star system. There is one planet in particular which looks interesting…”

And after that, nothing was ever the same.

Alex had a soaring imagination, throwing open doors Matt had never imagined possible. They would leap from world to world, from story to story, inhabiting characters old and new, as with a smile and a flick of his wrist Alex would make it all come to life. 

For their part, Matt and Josh held on with everything they had, never questioning their good fortune.


	7. To Change a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roda rights a wrong, and makes Alexander Saxon an offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a few days after "To Save a Life". CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THAT STORY.

_Forgive, forget. Bear with the faults of others as you would have them bear with yours._  
**— Phillips Brooks**

Rodageitmososa was - according to a still hungover Captain Jack Harkness - five days late for the worst Christmas Day he’d had in centuries.

The shock of returning from her errands in space still hadn’t worn off. Nathan, Afsana, Sylvia… Roda closed her eyes against the pain and the loss, committing their faces and their voices to memory as she leaned over the console of her TARDIS. If she had _been_ there - if she had been able to get them away, get them into her TARDIS, get them to safety… maybe they would _all_ be alive. Survivor’s guilt had always weighed heavy on her hearts - a chain that seemed, by now, embedded in the flesh, always tightening - but for all that the death hurt keenly, she knew that there was one other person who no doubt felt worse than she or Ianto or even Jack did. Someone Roda had never been particularly good at talking to.

She had parked quite a bit further down the street than she’d wanted to, and also simultaneously closer than she appreciated. Her TARDIS had turned on the console lights almost obnoxiously bright, making it’s opinion about where Roda had decided to take it _quite_ clear. But it was cold outside, and Roda was more than a little bit drunk herself (she had found what the others had left of the whiskey, and after making sure that the Hub was well and truly sterile taken it with her) and she didn’t feel much like having to walk too far in the snow. _That_ , she told herself, already wondering if piloting a TARDIS after drinking had been the smartest idea, _and I don_ _’t like any escape route from the Master being outside of a reasonable sprinting distance._ The Saxon residence was just far enough down the road that to train one of her security cameras on it, Roda had had to zoom in so much that the view was more than a little bit fuzzy. But there didn’t seem to be anything on fire, and no sign of screaming and terror. _And the Doctor,_ she reminded herself, _the Doctor will be there to keep the Master in line._ All the same… it felt like she was about to cross No Man’s Land into hostile territory.

Since The Year That Never Was, she had kept out of the family’s way. There was that one time she’d bumped into the Master buying a waffle iron, and an unfortunate incident where Sylvia had _insisted_ Roda get some trousers that weren’t full of holes and dragged her on a train to London and they’d managed to bump into Lucy Saxon, but for the most part, they’d not spoken in the years since time had been reversed. (And even then, Lucy hadn’t so much _spoken_ to Roda as sniffed, turned up her nose, and looked about ready to call a manager on her.) Of course she and Alexander crossed paths from time to time - she couldn’t begrudge Jack the relationship he’d somehow managed to form with the Time Tot, even if she half expected him to one day evolve into a miniature of his father - but she was usually able to excuse herself once she’d made the bare minimum of social niceties. _And now he_ _’s gone and made me feel like a paranoid, judgmental idiot._ It wasn’t pleasant, being forced to face her own prejudices.

With a sigh, Roda wrapped her coat tighter around herself, cast one last longing glance at the revolver she’d decided it would _not_ be a good idea to take with her and - as an afterthought - pulled on a pair of gloves that had definitely seen better days. _If I don_ _’t go_ now _,_ she thought to herself, _I_ _’m only going to talk myself out of it. And I promised Jack I’d not make things worse._ The TARDIS door swung open with a petulant energy, kicking Roda out on the curb with a definite air of ‘you’re only going to regret this’ and then slammed shut behind her as Roda started down the road, trudging a path through the settling snow. _Thank goodness for auto-locks. So long as she lets me back in._ She passed windows lit by coloured lights and cut-outs of snowmen and a man in a red suit and fir trees, and she could hear the sound of different, jingling songs muddling up with each other from all around her, but she was able to filter the most of it out. Christmas was something she had _heard_ of, but never something she’d celebrated.

Roda stopped two doors down from the Saxon residence, and took a deep breath, half-expecting some kind of proximity sensors to fry her where she stood. Chastising herself for being overly paranoid, she dug around in one of her coat pockets for a mobile phone she’d been bullied into buying by Tosh or Owen or somebody - that she had modified to the extent that it hardly functioned the way it was meant to, anymore - and scrolled through her contacts list until she found the name that she was looking for. As she held it up to her ear, pinned in place by one shoulder, she listened to the dial tone almost ring out before a familiar voice suddenly picked up, panting as if they’d sprinted to the phone. Rolling her eyes, Roda imagined that he probably _had._

“I - _Roda_?!” The Doctor made no attempt at all to hide his surprise. Roda pulled the phone away from her ear, deafened by the sound of more holiday music, and what she had a suspicious feeling was Lucy Saxon yelling something from another room. “I - um-”

“Tafelshrew got your tongue, Doctor?” asked Roda, a little too casually. The Doctor gave an irritated-but-amused hum down the line, and Roda moved the phone to the other ear. “Um… look. Sorry, I know this is… I know you play nice with _him_ this time of year-”

“Now, Roda-” the Doctor began to lecture. Roda held up a hand, though she knew he couldn’t see it, and cut in before he could continue.

“I know, I know. I’m not… calling about that.”

There was a long pause, and then the Doctor’s tone of voice changed. Years seemed to pile on in a single sentence as he fell quieter, his jolly-holly-ness fading just enough for Roda to wish she hadn’t called him. “I’m sorry, Roda…”

She set her jaw. “It’s Torchwood,” she said, no emotion in her voice. “I’m… Jack and I, we’re _used_ to it.”

“But it’s Christmas.”

“It’s just another day, Doctor,” retaliated Roda, wearily. “It could have happened then, or last week, or next Tuesday,” she felt her voice begin to rise, “or - or-!” Taking a deep breath in she pinched the bridge of her nose. _Talk now, mourn later._ “…Thank you, Doctor. I’m sorry, it’s… fresh.”

“Are you with Jack?”

Automatically, Roda shook her head. “He and Ianto are… well there’s a sock on the door. And a tie,” she couldn’t help but grin, “ _possibly_ a stopwatch, and someone’s-”

“I get the picture!” said the Doctor, hurriedly. Roda managed a laugh; she could _picture_ his blush. He coughed, cleared his throat, and then finally choked out a: “…did you _need_ something?”

Roda took another deep breath. “Is Alexander still there?” The line went so quiet that Roda almost wondered if they’d been disconnected. She took the phone away from her ear, shaking it until the display lit up again. _No, still connected._ “Doctor…?”

“You want to speak to _Alex_?”

“Look, I’m,” Roda ran a hand through her hair, snow clumping to the glove. She pulled a face. “I’m just down the road - you can probably see me, out the window.” She heard shuffling at the end of the phone, and then a door swung open, and the Doctor’s head stuck out, staring at her in disbelief. She gave him an awkward, half-wave. “I don’t want to interrupt…” she tried not to gaggle, “ _family_ stuff, but do you think he’d come out and talk?” She hesitated, and then hurriedly added, “just for a minute, five tops!”

She saw the Doctor’s eyes widen for a moment as he opened and shut his mouth, clearly at a loss as to what to say. _That doesn_ _’t happen often._

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He nodded at her, popping back inside and- well, as Roda heard him begin to talk to somebody as if the noise was coming through at least one wall, she realised that he’d presumably put the phone down on a counter wall. Rolling her eyes fondly, she hung up and slipped the phone back into her pocket, and rocked back on her heels. Now, she just had to wait and see what happened. The Doctor would be… well, _delicate_ was probably not the right word for anything his current regeneration did, but at least discreet. He liked Christmas enough, she knew, not to just sprint into the living room and inform the Master that she was just down the road in easy firing range, or to add drama to what was probably a very well organized, captive family meal, after all. It might be a while until he’d be able to pull Alexander aside - she knew the Tot had chosen another name for himself, when he was eight, but it had slipped her mind for the time being - but she could wait, for a little bit. There was, ostensibly, a couple of games on her phone. She considered taking it out again and seeing what she could find to entertain herself, satisfied that her mental wards would be enough to warn her of any danger, but before she got bored enough she heard the Saxon front door click open and shut again, and the sound of approaching feet.

Roda looked up as an equally surprised Alexander Saxon walked towards her, making a vague ‘let’s walk’ gesture with his hands. Taking the cue she fell into step beside him as he passed, and realised that she… really, _really_ didn’t know what she actually wanted to say.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you.” They were already three or four houses further away before the Seeker, wrapped up in a new-looking coat, broke the awkward silence. He was a lot older than the last time Roda had seen him, and it showed both in the way he held himself, and the age in his face. He was at university now, she vaguely remembered. Not quite the Academy, but good enough for him, she guessed. _Probably outshines his classmates by miles._ It wasn’t something she’d ever been familiar with. “I take it this isn’t a social visit?”

Realising that she’d never _really_ been alone with Alexander before, Roda shook her head.

“I wanted to talk to you about...” she waved a hand, fishing for the right words. "About what you did on Christmas Eve." _That sounds too clinical._ Roda swore to herself, pulling a face and running both hands agitatedly through her snowed-upon hair. “Not… like that. _Rassilon and Omega_ _’s balls,_ ” Alexander blinked at the curse, “I never thought I’d be having this conversation with _you_.”

Clearly trying to decide if he was being insulted or not and settling on diplomacy, Alexander gave a pointedly neutral response. “I can imagine.”

“Look…” As they turned a corner - walking right past her still peeved off TARDIS, disguised at the end of someone’s garden - Roda turned around and stopped, facing Alexander with red cheeks and an awkward expression on her face. “This is - you have to understand how weird this is. Thanking the _Master_ _’s_ son.”

Alexander’s response was only a _little_ tense. “I _am_ my own person you know, Redjay.”

“I know…” Roda sighed, shaking her head. “I’ve - I’ve _tried,_ I’m _trying,_ okay?” He nodded tentatively. “But…”

“But you can’t wrap your head around why _his son_ would save a life.” Well aware that there was pretty much no argument that she could make, Roda stayed silent. “I get it. I get that a lot.”

“I…”

_Oh, this is getting stupid._

Before she could stop herself Roda reached out and wrapped her arms around the son of one of her most hated rivals, squeezing him tightly. She tried to remind herself - no matter how stiff he had become in her arms, no matter how ill at ease she was herself, that right now this was _not_ the Master’s son. This was Alexander Saxon. Alexander who grew up alongside Jack’s grandson. Alexander who made fictional spaceships out of Lego, and tried to make friends with her when he was _three_. Alexander that Jack trusted and loved like a brother; and she loved Jack, forever and without question. _Alexander,_ she chastised herself, only holding him tighter, _who is the only reason I was able to wrap my arms around Ianto Jones this morning._ For what felt like hours they both just stood there, neither of them clearly sure how to take the gesture, and Roda unwilling to step away now that she had done it. For just a brief second, she almost wanted Alexander to put his arms up, and to hug her back; but to his credit, he seemed to have weighed up the options and decided that if he did, he would only startle her. And so she just stood there, vulnerable, grieving, almost forgetting the olive branch she’d even headed out here this afternoon to offer, and let down the walls in her mind just enough to show that the touch was genuine.

And then, before Alexander could change his mind, she stepped back and looked at the sky and felt her face begin to turn pink from more than just the snow.

“Thank you…” she whispered, at the sky. “And… I’m sorry.” Looking back at Alexander, she gave him what she hoped was a weak, self-deprecating grin. “I… I’ve not been fair, with you. I never have been.”

Alexander pulled a face. “You have every right to be nervous-”

Roda interrupted him, determined to have her say before he intervened. “Not you. I was never angry at _you._ I didn’t lie, back then. And you are _not_ _…_ ” she swallowed. “You are not your father. I should have understood that sooner.” For a second, she swore that she saw Alexander’s face soften. She coughed. “And thanks to you, Ianto’s _still here._ ”

Alexander’s voice was gentle, as sad as hers. He swallowed, clearly biting down memories of his own. _Oh, you_ idiot _Rodageitmososa. He found them. He saw them first_ _…_

“They were my friends, too. When I saw them…” Alexander paused, and shook his head. “I did the only thing I could. I couldn’t let him die.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” repeated Roda; aware that she was repeating herself, but still just as candid. “I wasn’t…” she made a helpless gesture with her hands, and her brow furrowed. “If _Jack_ had had to…”

“I know,” said Alexander, softly.

The pair fell silent for a moment, starting to walk again. Roda - not knowing the area well enough to not get lost - let Alexander lead the way, and steadily began to realise that they were doubling back on themselves, as though the road joined up again at the other end. Alexander seemed to know where his feet were taking him, and she realised that she trusted him, at the very least, not to lead her into danger. She mulled over her thoughts as they traveled in silence, one or the other one occasionally glancing at the other, or a decoration, or a passing bird. In a way, Roda didn’t actually _want_ to break the peace between them. This was the most they had ever talked with each other before, and the first time that they’d ever really been alone. And it was… nice. She was nervous, there was no point in trying to deny that, but after the horror of dealing with an uprising on a planet that she’d already forgotten the name of, returning to find three of her friends dead from a disease she remembered all too well and summoning up the courage to come to the Master’s house, well. She would have been lying if she said a walk in the snow with someone who was willing to at least _try_ to be her friend, despite all of the judgment she had sent their way from the day they were born, was nice. Almost, but not quite, relaxing.

They were almost back around to Roda’s TARDIS (having taken a shortcut down a connecting street, Alexander had explained) when Roda suddenly stopped walking, steeled herself, and blurted out her question before she could talk herself out of it.

“I want to teach you about Gallifrey. Lessons - in my TARDIS, I mean.” Alexander stared at her as though she had grown a second head. Roda pushed through, pointing at her TARDIS on the horizon. “I know the Doctor probably told you a little-”

“He… doesn’t like to mention it,” agreed Alexander, grimly.

“And I’m older.” Roda laughed, gesturing at herself. “In case no one ever told you.” She paused, unsure how much she was going to say. “I… knew Rassilon.” The side of Alexander’s eye twitched in obvious shock or amazement, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “I know the Prydonian Library like the back of my hand.” _Best not to mention,_ she decided, _that I_ _’ve stolen as many books from it as I have, over the years. Not yet, anyway. Besides which, they_ are _mine._ “I grew up before your father was even loomed. And… you deserve to know,” she said, finally. “To know where we come from, what it was like, through…” she ground to a stop mid-sentence. “Well, I’d be lying if I said it was through _neutral_ eyes, but someone other than your-”

“I would _love_ to!” Alexander’s eyes sparkled with an excitement Roda could almost remember seeing in her own reflection, once upon a time. An eagerness to learn, a need to know. He grabbed her hands, seemingly out of instinct, and she tried not to flinch. _Don_ _’t go ten steps back, Roda._ “I’ve always wondered - I mean, I considered _asking_ you but I didn’t think you would-”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have,” admitted Roda, all-too casually. “Not… before.”

Alexander laughed despite himself. “Well. I guess this isn’t the _worst_ Christmas ever, after all.”

They started to walk again, and Roda smiled, glancing at the sky as the snowfall stopped and gave way to clear, crisp blue infinity.

“Not the worst,” she agreed, almost talking to herself.

The loss of her friends was a pain that she’d feel keenly for a long while to come. Ianto and Jack and even Alexander, too. It wouldn’t go away, not anytime soon, and certainly not when the next person who might join what remained of Torchwood stumbled into their paths. But for now, they had each other, and Alexander was - whether Roda had ever been able to admit it before or not - a part of that family. Another weirdo like them, who cared deeply and understood the dangers of the universe. And more than that, he was a Time Lord; one quarter of what remained of Gallifrey, and the last real hope for their kind. If he could be born, then maybe one day, there would be others. Roda had to hope that he would grow up to be the good person that she knew he was, even if sometimes it was hard to see that. And as she stepped into her TARDIS and watched him carry on down the road and disappear back into his childhood home, she realised that so long after that first time that they’d shook hands, maybe she really could make a friend in him, after all.


	8. A Friend of Pygmalion Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Talos Golaras Valhekarian, purveyor of fine steaks and sides, takes Roda aside for a small talk.
> 
> Takes place during the events of ["The Human Tradition"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619831/chapters/68009131) in [Timely Lovers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619831/chapters/67573072) (2nd Seeker).

“Young lady! Would you humour an old Eukanian with a moment of your time?”

For just a second, Roda considered… running. She glanced over to where the Seeker was deep in conversation with the chef, asking more questions about cooking whale meat, and glanced towards the restaurant door. _If it comes to it_ , she decided, grimly, _I can put a good few metres between myself and Talos before he sounds any sort of alarm._ This regeneration of hers was fast on its feet, and fucking nippy. (She tried not to think about the instincts that had inspired her body to want to be able to _run_ , or that day on the Valiant.) But if she pegged it now - without at least finding out what he wanted to talk to her about - she would be leaving the Seeker stranded on an alien planet, centuries from home. And so she took a deep breath, forced a smile on her face and turned to face the Eukanian as if she had nothing at all to hide.

Throwing his arm around her shoulder, Talos greeted her response as though she was an old member of the family. Roda managed not to flinch, even though the idea of being touched against her will still caused her hearts to race. _Deep breaths, Roda. It’s just a talk._ Talos guided her to a quieter spot, away from other tables and customers, rambling away to her about how she had enjoyed the steak, and what else she had planned on Pygmalion Seven. She did her best to give polite, neutral answers; just passing through, sampling the local cuisine, visiting the fragrant gardens. But when he seemed certain that nobody else could hear them talking, Talos turned and placed a hand on her shoulder. He had to stand on tiptoes to meet her eye - he was a short, round man who certainly sampled his cooking - but when he did, there was a sincerity in them that caught Roda off guard enough not to back away and look for the exit.

“Talos,” she asked, her concern breaking through pretending this was the first time they had met, “is everything-?”

“You are the Redjay.”

Roda’s back stiffened. She made to straighten up and back away, but the Eukanian’s grip on her shoulder was tighter than she realised. Her smile slipped, and she narrowed her eyes.

“You must have the wrong person.”

“Ah,” Talos shook his head, making a tsking sound with his mandibles. “But I do not, do I.” Roda didn’t say a word. “A Eukanian never forgets a face.”

Despite herself, Roda blinked in confusion. “But I didn’t _have_ this face.” The words escaped before she could catch them, and she swore inwardly. Talos only chuckled.

“But the eyes.” He pinched her cheek like a fussing aunt. “Your eyes are the same. _Different,_ but honest.”

Roda risked a quick glance over at the Seeker. He was none the wiser about her predicament, eyes alight in that way that meant he was taking careful note of everything he was told. He’d be an expert on Pygmalineon cuisine by the end of the week. Talos stood patiently, waiting for her to talk again, and she tried to let some of her nerves slip away. _It doesn’t_ feel _like trouble. And I can still see the door._

“What are you after?” she asked, warily. “A bounty?” She paused. “A job?” He didn’t seem like the sort to hire a thief, but maybe there were layers to the man she didn’t know.

“Nothing!” protested Talos, visibly insulted by the implication. Roda felt a blush rise to her ears, and she tilted her head to one side. “You have helped my family enough.”

Roda froze. _His nephew._ In the calm of the date, she had almost forgotten why she knew this place existed. Her contact had assured her that the meeting was private, but was his uncle in on his subterfuge? Had he wanted to bring down his brother, too? She cursed herself for not double-checking the month they’d landed in (or aiming for a different time period all together), but now that she thought about it, the mood in the streets had been happier. Calmer. None of the palpable sense of dread that had come from the Governor’s security patrols, coming up to his re-election. No blockades, no fear. _And the park re-opened..._

She had never been able to follow up on whether she had managed to make a difference on Pygmalion Seven, instead choosing to flee the system before her face could make the news. She had taken Talos’ nephew with her, and left him with the credits to lay low until it was safe for him to return home. (And a lot of them, in case it never was.) But with a sense of unbridled delight that threatened to overwhelm her, she began to realise that perhaps she _had_ helped these people. That her political sabotage had not been in vain.

“Your brother...?” she asked, quietly. Talos beamed, all jolly and cheerful again.

“Deposed. The people of Pygmalion Seven can rejoice again. All because my nephew,” he said, proudly, “and a petty thief managed to expose his tyranny.”

Roda pouted. “I wouldn’t say _petty_ ,” she argued, “I’ll have you know I-!”

Before she could finish talking, Talos had pulled her into a tight embrace. She yelped, quietly, but the Eukanian showed no signs of letting her go. When it became clear that he was going to squeeze until she could hardly breathe Roda tentatively returned the embrace, patting the old man awkwardly on the back. When he eventually let her go, there were tears forming in his eyes, and yet his smile hadn’t lessened at all.

“My nephew is pardoned,” Talos said, practically laughing with relief. “He plans to return home before the year’s end, and he has sung your praises. I knew it was you,” he continued, patting her on the shoulder again. “Even though you no longer look the same. You had that look about you.” Roda hoped that look wasn’t ‘shifty’. “And you like the Kalaxian Pepperfruit overdone. Not like we eat on Pygmalion Seven.”

Roda stared silently, shaking her head in disbelief. _Of all the tells…_ and then she found herself laughing, embracing the Eukanian of her own accord and smiling ear to ear, even through the embarrassment. _I made a difference,_ she thought, with wonder. _And nobody had to die._ It felt good - amazing, even. The icing on a night out with a man that she loved that had already defied her expectations. She let go of Talos and looked him up and down, and then checked out her date one more time and couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

“I… thank you.” She rubbed her eyes absentmindedly with one hand. “Thank you for telling me. Give your nephew my regards, and…” she lowered her voice. “Kindly keep this face to yourself.”

Talos chuckled, and put his hands to his heart. “You have my vow as Talos Golaras Valhekarian, purveyor of fine steaks and sides!” He announced, with gusto. “Any friend of Pygmalion Seven is welcome at my restaurant, now and forever.”

Roda smiled. “Keep cooking great steak,” she assured him, “and you’ll see me again.”

“It is a vow!” He clasped her hand in both of his, and then looked over her shoulder. “And as long as I live, you will eat like family!” He waved a hand. “No charge!”

As much as she tried to argue with him, Talos was having none of it. By the time he let her return to the Seeker so that he could deal with another customer, Roda had well and truly lost the fight and been told to bring her ‘husband’ for coffee. (In the end she’d decided that explaining that she and the Seeker were _not_ married, seeing as they’d just eaten a meal that was in fact an aphrodisiac, was a discussion to get into another day. And also that she might even take the Eukanian up on the offer, one day.) As she drifted back over the Seeker gave her a curious look, and Roda shrugged happily as she laced her arm through his.

« _I’ll explain later,_ » she assured him, kissing him on the cheek. « _It’s a long story._ » Satisfied, the Seeker gave her a small nod as she added: “Oh, and I’ve settled the bill.”

He stared at her, mouth agape, before shaking his head fondly. “ _How_ did you- you know what, don’t tell me.”

Roda smirked playfully. “Probably for the best.”

“And you called _me_ the rogue.” He sighed fondly. “Though I wish you’d let me pay, or split the bill; you are _ever_ the non-traditionalist.”

“Well,” Roda shrugged, “you know me.”

“That I do.”

“ _And_ I chose the restaurant.”

“A fair point.” Though he might have guessed she had something under her cap, he chose not to pry. _A tendency I am eternally grateful for._ Without further waiting, the Seeker said his thanks to the chef and gestured towards the door. “Shall we, lover?”

“Let’s.”

With a new spring in her step both from the news _and_ from her date, Roda led her lover into the night with a smile on her face that she thought would never fade.


	9. Doctor of Divinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master's son writes a PhD. This does not happen in isolation - indeed his nearest and dearest all have opinions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this is set during the Seeker’s final half year of university. He's 20 - 21 years old.
> 
> Specifically, it takes place post-[To Change A Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713218/chapters/67827794) (from Extra Waffles) / during the period from Chapter 20 (Secret Chord) and through to (and including) Chapter 29 (Graduation) of [‘Dating the Cleverest Boy in the World’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/457252/chapters/786971). Contains SPOILERS for everything up to and including ‘Graduation’.
> 
> I am fudging a lot of stuff as regards Doctorates, but anything that’s incorrect I figure the Seeker is just bending the rules. ;)
> 
> With thanks to HondoKenobi for providing Roda’s dialogue, and to KathyH for the beta. <3

_January 2028_

“Have you ever been worshipped?”

It was clear that whatever the Redjay had expected her ‘lessons’ to entail, this question hadn’t featured. They were in her TARDIS, in what she referred to as her ‘library’ — which was _technically_ correct the Seeker supposed, in that it most definitely was a collection of books. Part of him wanted to delve in and organise everything, but another part liked the Aladdin’s Cave feel of it, treasures piled high all around him. The chair he was sitting on had not been easy to locate, and he hoped he wasn’t supposed to take notes since the table next to him didn’t have enough free space to rest a pad comfortably. On the other hand the Redjay was sort of just wandering about and — unsure if she’d planned anything or was just going to make it up as she went along — he decided to steer the conversation towards his own current interests and projects.

Trying to look at the situation from the outside he found the image of the two of them rather entertaining: himself dressed in his ubiquitous white T-shirt, blue jeans and trainers; the Redjay in a simple red shirt with rolled up sleeves, paired with loose brown trousers and bare feet, her hair haphazardly pulled back into a casual bun, seemingly held in place with a pen. Not exactly what someone would imagine two of the last remaining members of ‘the mightiest race’ in the universe to look like… 

Quietly amused, he watched her face as it skipped through half a dozen expressions, including incredulity and exasperation, before she answered his question.

"Rassilon, no, I've never been worshipped. The Doctor saves the day and gets remembered. I tend to do it by breaking a lot more rules and I'm more likely to get chased off it; which is fine by me. The less I'm remembered, the less of a paper trail there is for any authorities I've managed to piss off.” 

A beat. 

“Also," the Redjay’s nose wrinkled up, "I think I can imagine few things _less_ pleasant than being thought of as a god."

The Seeker nodded. It was more or less what he’d expected, but presumption was not the same as confirmation.

"Sorry, just curious. The Doctor is known as 'The Lonely God' and my father... _well_. So I wondered if it happened to all higher species hanging around with lower ones and… my current sample group is literally just the three of you."

The Redjay snorted.

"Well your father enjoys it and the Doctor's... the Doctor. He's kind of the exception to a lot of rules, apparently."

The Seeker smiled wryly. "You can say that again. My entire life so far has been 'Do as I say, not as I do!'"

Roda sank into a chair, rolling her eyes and looking down-right conspiratorial.

"Tell me about it. You should've run off to chat with me sooner, I'd be the fun parent." 

A cough, to mask the possible uncomfortable issues arising from this as the Seeker blinked, trying to allocate the Redjay to a ‘parent’ box and utterly failing. Fun aunt, maybe. Fun, irreverent aunt.

"Anyway... why were you thinking about it?"

He tilted his head. "I'm writing a dissertation. A Doctorate in ‘Divinity’ as it’s called here. Tentatively named _‘The Steps between Personhood and Godhood’_. I'm currently in the process of trying to pin it down. Hence asking around — after all, they _do_ say to 'write what you know’.” 

His eyes narrowed, reflecting. “‘Steps’ isn't quite the right word though.” 

“See,” the Redjay laughed, “this is where you and I differ. You actually want to write _more_ essays! I practically danced handing in the last one I ever had to write.” 

A pause, as her face turned serious. “Although I don’t think there’s steps _plural_. Most times I’ve seen someone declare themselves a God — and I’ve almost always wanted to bring them down a peg or two — it’s just been a lot of fear tactics and ‘because I say so’.”

Her tone communicated ‘ugh, dictators’ without ever saying so, and the Seeker opened his mouth to explain that this was exactly why ‘steps’ was the wrong word — it wasn’t about people moving from one to the other, but about categories — when she shot him a sudden anxious look.

“You’re not planning on...” She hesitated and seemed to run over what he’d said once more. “Hang on — what you _know_?”

He wondered if he’d made a misstep in bringing up the topic, but on the other hand there was no point beating around the bush. If he couldn’t be honest _here_ , with her, then he might as well leave. 

Letting a finger trace the edge of the book in front of him he frowned. "I was 'born to rule the universe'. My earliest memories include people _worshipping_ me. I want to... unpack that. Work out how it functions. Why do people seek out others to follow? And where lies the difference, or line, between a search for _faith_ , and the blind following of a charismatic leader?"

The Redjay wrinkled her nose again, clearly trying not to lose her temper. "Your earliest memories _also_ include me not being able to _stand_. You don't think _that's_ destiny too, do you?" 

She dragged a hand across her face, sighing. "Sorry. That’s not fair. But, I don't know if I _do_ believe. In faith, I mean. Isn't _all_ religion blind following of a charismatic leader?"

Worrying her lip she then changed tack again, clearly trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Well, _you're_ the one writing the doctorate. But I'm probably the Skaro's Advocate, here."

“Which is _great_! Your perspective is completely different from the Doctor’s, it’s hugely useful.” 

Which was very true. She’d be his irreverent aunt, the one saying what the others couldn’t or wouldn’t. He was thrilled, even as he realised that they’d probably spend decades learning to navigate each other’s minds — her replies were constantly blindsiding him, her leaps of deduction near incomprehensible and following no logic he could ascertain. 

“But,” he tried to clarify. “This has… _nothing_ to do with destiny. My father is insane and likes to hurt people, but he has followers who adore him even so. Ones who aren't hypnotised. Why do people _do_ that? Heck look at Donald Trump as a prime example.”

The Redjay glared, muttering. “I try not to think about Trump. What the Skaro were the humans _thinking_?”

He shook his head, equally puzzled. "I don't know! It's so _weird_. Anyway, I've strayed from the point.”

Hesitating briefly, he wondered how to frame the next question, then figured he might as well go for broke.

_(The one thing the Doctor had said, sending him one of those **looks** — the ones the Doctor excelled at, all ominous and ‘Don’t Ask’ — had been: ‘Don’t ask about her past.’_

_The Seeker had done his best not to roll his eyes._

_‘Doctor. I’m not going to ask what Dad did to her, that goes without saying!’_

_The Doctor had looked momentarily thrown, before shaking his head. ‘That’s not what I meant. Don’t ask about… Gallifrey.’_

_Wondering if his life would ever stop feeling like an endless succession of moments that could be summed up as ‘Why is everyone stupid except me?’ he sighed._

_‘But isn’t she supposed to be teaching me **about** Gallifrey?’_

_‘In general, yes. But don’t ask about **her** story.’_

_Seeing as the Doctor still had The Look on his face, the Seeker did his best to arrange his face into something suitably acquiescent and nodded. He hadn’t been planning on asking her, so it was easy to agree._

_‘Duly noted.’)_

He wasn’t exactly sure what her past _did_ entail except that she had been exiled, fallen foul of his father, and later fought in the Time War, and the Doctor had given him zero pointers, so if he blundered into something… well, it was tough luck. He couldn’t learn anything if he wasn’t allowed to ask questions. 

“I was going to ask you about Rassilon.”

He knew she had been loomed during Rassilon’s era, and figured she could give him a flavour of how the man had been viewed during his lifetime — presumably this would be much like asking someone from the past about Henry VIII or William the Conqueror; getting a view from the ‘peanut gallery’.

Personally the Seeker liked to think of Rassilon as vaguely analogous to Churchill — the achievements were real enough, but the current British view of Churchill was twofold: Half saw a superhero who single-handedly won the Second World War, contrasted with the other half who saw him as ‘a racist bastard who had plenty in common with Hitler’. Somewhere in the middle was the truth — inasmuch as such a thing existed — and someone who had been alive back then would be more likely to have a less blinkered view, having observed triumphs and failures firsthand. (Much like the British who followed Churchill through the war and then immediately voted him out of office.)

However Rassilon was a lot older, and his achievements were a lot greater than any number of Churchills. He had helped forge his own legend as well as the legends of Gallifrey itself, and the Seeker was deeply curious. He presumed the question was general enough not to trigger whatever the Doctor was worried about.

Thankfully the Redjay didn’t balk. Instead she blinked in surprise, more bewildered than upset. 

"Rassilon is not a God." 

He waited as she turned things over in her mind before her eyes fastened on him, slowly widening in horror.

"Hold up, just — that's not what they were teaching tots by the Doctor's era, is it?!"

"I don't think so, but... He's this ancient Founding Father-”

“Him,” argued Roda, “and Omega and… the other one. She’s complicated.”

The Seeker perked up. Bother the Doctor and his weird hang-ups, this was exactly what he had been hoping for.

“And on account of not being around I'm sure that the legend has overshadowed the truth. The Doctor seems very cross with him — something to do with the Time War — but... I would like your perspective. The man versus the myth and all that. Depending on how well you knew him... Or _of_ him, I suppose I should say."

"Hmm." 

A moment of worry as her brow clouded over, but then, to his great relief, she laughed. 

"Well, he _was_ a right arse in the Time War! Scooped me back too as if I was going to say no to trying to stop the Daleks destroying the universe." Shaking her head and sighing she picked up a book at random and turned it over. “Mind you, I went out of my way not to see him during the War. Probably so did he. But when I was young he was... well, it's complicated."

The Seeker could almost _feel_ his ears prick up and sat very very still. ‘Complicated’ meant… _personal_.

"How well I knew…” She chuckled and glanced at him. "Well, apparently I was the topic of gossip once upon a time, but not anymore." 

Abruptly she looked away, fastening her eyes on the tome in her hands. "I knew him personally. Or at least I thought I did, once. I lived with him for the better part of 300 years. I was an orphan, nothing left of my House but me, so it fell to the head of the Prydonian Chapter to decide what happened to me. For whatever reason, he took me in.” 

She shot the Seeker a dark look, and he couldn’t have moved had he tried.

“I thought he was being kind once upon a time, but I was wrong.” A small sigh. “If you want to know about the man behind the story then he was also a solar engineer at heart, and he could command a room with a look. He didn’t know when he had soot on his face. His sense of humour was painful. But he had a temper and he knew he was important and I didn’t meet his expectations of me.”

The Seeker was floored. He had never expected… this. Any of it. Neither her story, nor the fact that she would tell him. The sheer trust she was placing in him took his breath away. 

_(‘You see this, Alexander? This is what our race should never become.’ The memory old, and faint, but one he had always made sure to retain: His father holding the Redjay, so badly hurt that she could barely stand, and the baby he had been had not understood.)_

She had been Rassilon’s _ward_. Maybe his father was jealous, his hatred gaining countless more interpretations and a great deal more context. And if she had defied Rassilon himself his father was probably small fry in comparison as an adversary… Oh, he’d be spending a _lot_ of time sorting through all of this, once he was alone. For now — he simply appreciated having won the lottery of unexpected friends.

Having clearly decided that she was through with personal backstories, she changed tack.

“I mean, we made jokes in the Academy. Any kind of swear, probably had Rassilon’s name in it. And he names _so many things_ after himself. Rassilon and Omega, it was practically at the point of-” She adopted a mocking deep tone. “-the Waffle Iron of Rassilon!” 

The Seeker, head tilted and hand under chin, was _thrilled_. "What kind of swear words? This is important information.”

“The swear words are what’s important? Really?”

Mirth was bubbling up and he grinned at her. 

“Of course!”

He didn’t say that he might want to store up on ways to annoy the Doctor (and his father of course), and swearing was a surefire way of doing so. (Oh it was petty, _but_.) 

“OK, not really. Please carry on. I am your attentive pupil.”

Clearing her throat she did a half-smile. “Right. Outside of the Academy though, everyone loved him. Powerful leader, got us out of the Dark Ages, defeated the Vampires blah blah blah. And if you _didn’t_ like him, you sure as _Skaro_ didn’t say it. Mind you, that was just in the Citadel.”

She tapped the book then put it back on a pile. (Not the one it had been on originally.)

“Look.... I don’t really give a damn about religion, but Rassilon was worshipped like a celebrity. And I was gone from Gallifrey before he ‘died’ so I can’t talk about how things changed after that. But I guess the thing is...” (She muttered under her breath in Gallifreyan, something that sounded like ‘how on Gallifrey do I explain this…’) “Respect and irreverence. They went hand in hand, at least when we were young. So it didn’t feel like worship, but I was... an exception.”

He inclined his head, filing it all away.

“That makes sense, thank you. Of course I can't officially use anything you tell me, but... Seeing how the patterns overlap helps. And it's great to have someone to talk to who isn't trying to... _mould_ me. And who..." his voice trailed off. "Who can talk about a war against Vampires and it's just... _history_. The world of humans is so _small_. Until now I only had Jack.”

She nodded, and maybe she had guessed that he needed someone like her? It didn’t sound like she’d had anyone.

“Yeah, hold onto Jack. Jack and I have... history. But without him, now? I don’t know where I’d be.”

“Me too,” he said, holding her eyes and trying to bite back a grin. “If I worship anything, it’s probably Jack.”

Which made her laugh so hard that he wondered if maybe there was some kind of private joke somewhere. 

But all in all, it was a very successful visit.

***

_February 2028_

Academic writing was bliss. The Seeker spent entire days embedded in libraries and archives, amassing impressive piles of notes, then going on walks or hiring a punt and just drifting, letting thoughts percolate so they could coalesce into a whole. 

Human history and religions were a rich source, and the main issue became having to restrict himself to fewer than 80,000 words. On the plus side he appreciated having to focus and being forced to keep everything within clearly defined boundaries. 

Discerning patterns was what he was best at, and the thesis almost wrote itself. 

Alongside he was building an interesting and unexpected picture of Gallifrey. The Redjay would randomly drop information, plus he’d occasionally stumble across books in her library that he found instructive. Collecting knowledge in bits and pieces was something he was used to — it might be centuries before he had something approximating an overview, but that was fine. He had time.

As an added bonus he found that running the two projects in parallel was a rewarding undertaking. They would illuminate each other and highlight differences, helping him to see which points were human specific, and which were more universal. 

Occasionally he remembered that he should work on the BA and MA as well and knocked out an assignment on an evening whilst watching TV with Allison. The Doctor would skim through them, but the science was so simple that the Doctor mostly confined himself to stylistic notes.

As the PhD took shape the title became more focussed too, and in the end the Seeker settled on:

> **The Different Paths to Godhood**  
>  _Inherent, Bestowed, Imposed, Seized_

He looked at it, and nodded in satisfaction. Even the Doctor approved.

***

_March 2028_

When he had a good (if basic) draft he let Allison look it over. 

“Just read it, then let me know what you think,” he said before she could speak, and she nodded and began reading. He never interfered in her work (for oh so many reasons), but he appreciated her intellect and suspected that she’d be a good soundboard. As a touchstone for ‘What a human will think’ she was basically perfect.

“You put your father’s cult in it?” she asked after a couple of hours, looking up (she had clearly gotten to the ‘Imposed’ part), and he frowned, confused at her question.

“Of course. It’s relevant.”

She shot him a _look_ and said, “Well I hope it helped you to… come to terms with things.”

“It did,” he replied, since that seemed the best answer with the least amount of follow-up, and wondered yet again if anyone would ever understand him. (Except for his mother of course.) And it _had_ helped, although not in the way she presumed.

That night in bed, Allison falling asleep and turning away, he thought back to what he had told her about the day The Cult showed up; the way Allison had reacted, the parts he had omitted… 

Moments branded into his memory, but not for the reasons anyone would have thought. 

_(The gun in his mother’s hand, hidden behind the door, knuckles going white, and the strain in her voice as she told the people outside to **leave**.) _

He’d interrupted because he thought he might be able to help — his world had been so small then, but he had already instinctively learned how to ‘lean’ on those around him, despite being only just 3. What had happened next had taught him that some people could not be affected thus. 

Stepping forwards he had been ready to push back (gently, covertly), the way he would his nursery school teachers or the other children or people in shops… But was met with a blank wall of purpose, like a sheer cliff face with a single motive. There had been no way to grapple with it, his young mind scrambling for any kind of grip or way to ward off the sudden onslaught of focus, all centred on _him_ , unyielding and terrifying. 

He had never been prey before, and had frozen on the spot.

But mum had been prepared. Before they had managed to even lay a single finger on him two of them were dead and several more wounded, staggering back, giving her time to grab him and flee to the panic room where they would be safe.

Once the door was locked and she had called the Doctor she sank down onto the simple bench, grabbing hold of him by his upper arms, and he could feel her shaking as she looked at him, more serious than he could remember.

“ _Never_ do that again, Alexander, do you hear me? _Never_. When I tell you to stay put, you _stay_.”

“Yes mum,” he’d whispered, “I promise.”

When she relaxed her grip on him he studied her gravely, and then located some tissues and a water bottle on the well-stocked shelves, before carefully cleaning her face where the blood of one of the bad people had sprayed across her face. He was sure he remembered mum doing that for dad at some point on the Valiant. She didn’t like mess.

“There. Better,” he said, and with that familiar look of wonder and concern she reached out and gently took his face in her hands.

“Are you okay sweetheart?” she asked, and he knew she didn’t mean physically. 

He had looked up at her, hearts too full to explain other than borrowing from a story.

“Yes. You are Mother Wolf,” he replied, eyes shining, then crawled onto her lap, burying himself in her warmth and safety.

> _(The tiger’s roar filled the cave with thunder. Mother Wolf shook herself clear of the cubs and sprang forward, her eyes, like two green moons in the darkness, facing the blazing eyes of Shere Khan._
> 
> _“And it is I, Raksha [The Demon], who answers. The man’s cub is mine, Lungri—mine to me! He shall not be killed. He shall live to run with the Pack and to hunt with the Pack; and in the end, look you, hunter of little naked cubs—frog-eater—fish-killer—he shall hunt thee! Now get hence, or by the Sambhur that I killed (I eat no starved cattle), back thou goest to thy mother, burned beast of the jungle, lamer than ever thou camest into the world! Go!”_
> 
> _Father Wolf looked on amazed. He had almost forgotten the days when he won Mother Wolf in fair fight from five other wolves, when she ran in the Pack and was not called The Demon for compliment’s sake. Shere Khan might have faced Father Wolf, but he could not stand up against Mother Wolf, for he knew that where he was she had all the advantage of the ground, and would fight to the death.)_

She had folded her arms around him, dropping a kiss on his hair.

“That I am my little frog. I’ll always protect you.”

He had fallen asleep, soothed by the beating of her heart and her gentle rocking, as content and untroubled a child as could be found in the whole of England. 

He knew that if he told Allison any of this she would be appalled and think that seeing people murdered in front of his eyes would have upset and scarred him, and he didn’t know how to explain that it hadn’t bothered him at all. They had come to steal him — what mattered had been his mother’s protection, the bone deep knowledge that he was safe and protected. 

It was what no one understood; his parents might be monsters, but they were his and he was loved. 

No he felt no upset at the cultists who had been killed. _The Jungle Book_ had proved a good guide, and even as a tiny tot he had understood that the cult had been in the wrong.

> _(The Law of the Jungle lays down very clearly that any wolf may, when he marries, withdraw from the Pack he belongs to. But as soon as his cubs are old enough to stand on their feet he must bring them to the Pack Council, which is generally held once a month at full moon, in order that the other wolves may identify them. After that inspection the cubs are free to run where they please, and until they have killed their first buck no excuse is accepted if a grown wolf of the Pack kills one of them. The punishment is death where the murderer can be found; and if you think for a minute you will see that this must be so.)_

When the Doctor had finally let them out there had been an almighty row — the Doctor had been angry about the gun and the killing, and his mother had been furious that the wards had been breached, the cultists shouldn’t have been able to find them. (‘It would have helped if I’d _known_ he had a cult!’ / ‘You said we were safe from _everyone_!’)

The thing that struck him _now_ , all this time later, was that although his father might have inspired the cult, they had become entirely their own thing — and that such obsession could not be controlled. 

There were cult leaders, and then there were groups who chose a Messiah, whether or not that Messiah wanted the role… 

_(‘I could do terrible things in the name of good.’)_

No. He would never go down that path. And he’d have a whole thesis to explain why in case anyone ever asked. Smiling to himself, he drifted off to sleep.

***

_April 2028_

One day, unannounced, River stopped by. 

Since the Doctor had taken to dropping in on almost a weekly basis, the Seeker had merely yelled ‘Come in!’ at the knock on the door, and belatedly realised that he couldn’t sense the Doctor. Turning in his chair he discovered River draped in the doorway, smirking.

“Sitting with your back to the door? I could have killed you twenty seven times already, and that’s without counting the gun. Whatever would your father say?”

“ _I_ say: Live by the sword, die by the sword,” he returned calmly, doing his best to smooth down the feeling of excitement that always flared up at her rare appearances. 

“The pen is only mightier than the sword when the sword isn’t pointed at a main artery,” she replied, at which he gave over and began laughing.

“I’ve missed you! And don’t worry, Jack’s been teaching me plenty of self-defence. I can _more_ than hold my own, and I’m pretty sure I could kill someone with a pen should the need arise… Seriously though — to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“The Doctor mentioned that you were writing a PhD. In… _Divinity_?”

He grinned at her, struck by inspiration. His sample group had _four_ people in it.

“Seemed appropriate. And since you’re here you can help! Tell me: Have you ever been worshipped?”

River raised an eyebrow.

“Now _there’s_ a question! Hmmm, let me think.”

She walked into his study and took a seat on the other chair, crossed one leg over the other and then tilted her head, shrewd eyes studying him. 

“Why me? Surely the Doctor is a better subject for study…” A beat, then she added, drily, “And I should know.”

He was about to reply that of course the Doctor was the top of the list — and that this was a side project, not the main PhD — when the significance of her words sunk in.

“You did your Doctorate on _the Doctor_?”

“Sure did clever-clogs. Figured I should know the guy since I’d saved his life…”

“Can I read it?”

She blinked, slowly. “I don’t think anyone has ever asked. But certainly. I’d say beware spoilers, but I think we already established that you’re good on that front. I’d like to read yours in return if you don’t mind.”

“I’d be honoured. And it’d be nice to get an _actual_ Doctor to look at it…”

She chuckled, and then proceeded to tell him ridiculous stories for the rest of the afternoon. But the stories also contained a lot of interesting information (as did her PhD) and his side-project gained a whole new section.

She dropped by again the following week, having read his draft and deciding that it’d be better to pass on her notes in person. 

“Before we start — what happened to the cultists?”

The Seeker studied the woman across from him and realised that he’d been wrong. There was _one_ person who’d understand.

“Mum shot two, which slowed the rest of them down enough for us to get to our panic room.”

River nodded to herself, a soft smile on her face.

“I like a happy ending. My mum… Well, as I told you I was kidnapped as a baby, by people far more dedicated and driven than your father’s worshippers. And many years later, my mother killed the person who stole me. In an alternate timeline, true, but… it felt good, can’t lie. Mums are the best.” 

“That they are,” he replied, smiling. 

“But. Enough of the pleasantries, I have _notes_ for you, young man!”

Meaning that when Allison came back from her supervision they were still busy revising.

“Hello?” 

Before the Seeker could even open his mouth River was on her feet.

“ _Hello_! You must be Allison. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Doctor River Song, archeologist — been giving Alex a bit of advice with his doctorate-“

She effortlessly spun a perfect tale and then excused herself, leaving Allison looking rather dazzled, if somewhat confused.

“Alex. River seemed lovely, but… why did she have a gun?”

Trust Allison to notice the one thing neither he nor River had even thought about. But he was an expert at this.

“She’s a bit… Indiana Jones-y? She’s travelled all over, climbed up mountains and trekked through jungles and — you name it, she’s done it. Although before she did her doctorate she was a trained assassin. So… more like Indiana Jones plus James Bond really.”

Allison seemed to turn this over, as he silently thanked humans for inventing so many stories that he could easily find suitable analogies.

“Another ‘family friend’ is she?”

“Yes?”

A long pause as Allison fell silent again, and he wondered at what was going through her head.

“I can see what Matt and Josh meant when they said that your mother was the only normal one.”

He tried to smile, even as her words made him quietly despair — how could he ever explain his world to her? _(‘My mother danced when the world ended. She married my father knowing full well what he is…’)_

But that was a problem for future!him. For now he was still trying his best to live in the moment, although he could feel it running out…

He thought of everything he had read about God and Free Will, and knew _exactly_ why there was no other option. One day soon he would hand Allison an apple, and once her eyes were opened she’d have to make a choice.

***

_November 2028_

It was the morning after Graduation and the party had broken up many hours previously. But the Seeker (still in his doctoral robes) had decided that he wanted to accompany the Redjay and Jack back to the Hub.

He’d been _ever_ so good all day — playing his role perfectly for his mother’s family whilst trying to juggle all his ‘Hermits’ with Allison on top… Allison who had said _‘Maybe’_ , Allison who had _kissed_ him, Allison who had given him that most impossible thing he had never dared imagine: _Hope_.

The mess that was Josh and Jamie and his father (Godhood simultaneously bestowed and seized — why was reality so much messier than his neat thesis?) he had decided not to dwell on for the time being. 

He was happy, and he was drunk. Happily drunk. Drunkenly happy. It was nice. 

Jack had unearthed some pastries from goodness knows where, which was good because breakfast was good. Yes. Lovely breakfast. Nice croissants. Waffles would have been even better, but croissants were just fine. 

He was aware that his brain capacity seemed… _less_ , but didn’t care. He had a BA and an MA and a Doctorate and he was the cleverest boy in all the world. And he wasn’t lying to anyone anymore. He felt light as air and practically giddy. He should celebrate.

Picking up a croissant he held it up.

“Eat of this bread-!”

Jack began laughing, getting what the Seeker was referencing. 

“Seeker…” he tried, but the Seeker cut him off.

“Eat! Of this bread! For it is bread.”

At which point Jack buried his head in his hands, muttering something that sounded like ‘Oh dear’.

Dropping the croissant back down on his plate he picked up one of his presents, a vintage bottle of wine from some human relative — probably chosen at random from their wine cellar, but no less appreciated because of that. 

“And drink of this wine-!”

The Redjay leaned into Jack, a confused frown on her face.

“Is this... is this a reference to something?”

Jack, still chuckling, shook his head, clearly unable to summarise the sheer amount of information. 

“Kind of…”

“Because-” the Seeker carried on, “-and I was _speaking_ -!”

Jack held up his hands apologetically as the Redjay, obviously even more confused, said: “Because... it is wine?”

Frowning, the Seeker studied her.

“Have you heard this one before?”

***

Alex eventually fell asleep with his head on Jack’s shoulder and never stirred as Jack gently laid him down on the sofa, Roda tucking a cushion under his head.

For a while they simply stood there, looking down at the Master’s son — wrapped in his doctoral robe, the funny hat having been deposited on the table, and sleeping the sleep of exhaustion and celebration — then Roda turned to Jack.

“Do you remember-”

She wasn’t entirely sure where that sentence was supposed to end, but Jack understood. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he nodded.

“Yeah. I remember. Who could have imagined this?”

Despite herself, she chuckled. From the Master’s destructive reign to… _this_.

The somewhat random lessons over the past several months had been unexpectedly enjoyable, and she found herself surprisingly fond of the time tot. She watched the sleeping youth and shook her head, somewhat incredulous.

“Our very own little Doctor…”

Judging by the look on Jack’s face, she’d caused some kind of consternation. “Roda… Have you _read_ his thesis?”

She shook her head, pulling a face.

“He sent it to me, but it’s _very_ dry. I… didn’t get past the first page.”

The relief on Jack’s face was evident.

“Oh thank god. Me neither.”

Thoughtfully chewing on her bottom lip, Roda’s eyes narrowed. “He told me that he was writing it in order to deal with… being the object of worship. I’m not sure I ever understood the impulse, but turning _that_ year into dull academia seems…”

“Fitting? Very him?” Jack offered, and Roda shook her head, a small smile on her lips.

“Reassuring.”

Behind them the roll door opened, and they turned to see Ianto step through, looking well-rested and fresh as a daisy — a rather pointed contrast to the two of them, who had yet to see their beds and were rather the worse for wear. Ianto had been invited to the Graduation of course, but had firmly and politely declined. 

Nodding a good morning (whilst sending them a look which communicated ‘You look terrible and should get to bed immediately’) Ianto began clearing up the breakfast things, only stopping to smooth out Alex’s robe and checking that the boy would be staying, at least until he’d slept off the night’s revels. Having been thus reassured he smiled, pleased.

“Must make sure he doesn’t leave before I can speak with him. I very much enjoyed his thesis and have been waiting for an opportunity to tell him so.”

Jack and Roda stared at him mutely, then turned to each other.

“Bed?”

“Bed.”

***

_Meanwhile in the Doctor’s TARDIS_

The remainders of a full English breakfast had been moved to the edges of the table to make way for the apparatus the Doctor was cobbling together to detect alien bats. Donna had said something about how she was sure the bats in her garden weren’t normal and he’d foolishly promised to help. 

Despite the fact that it had been years since she travelled with him, she still had his number on speed dial for every imagined emergency.

The Master, still nursing a cup of coffee, looked up from the neatly bound document in his hands and sighed deeply. 

“I’m _bored_. How did my son write about godhood and make it _boring_?”

The Doctor shrugged, not looking up. 

“He’s _your_ son.”

“But _footnotes_? And this whole first section is all about Jesus. Why would the Seeker _do_ something like this?”

A moment’s hesitation, then the Doctor removed his glasses and studied the Master thoughtfully.

“I think it’s teenage rebellion.”

This had clearly not occurred to the Master.

“ _Rebellion_?”

The Doctor leaned forward. Things had been difficult ever since the boy turned eighteen, in ways he had never imagined nor anticipated. However the boy had learned some unexpectedly harsh lessons by now and the Doctor hoped he’d turned a corner. 

But the Doctorate… In the end he’d asked River to help out; painstaking attention to detail was not exactly his forte, yet River seemed to have the same appreciation for it that the Seeker did. 

“Look, we forced him to go to university on Earth. It was supposed to be a punishment of sorts, but he’s turned it back on us. You said he did a whole rant yesterday about becoming a Master _and_ a Doctor and that’s all we were getting, yes? I… guess that’s normal? Rebellion I mean.” 

“But like _this_?”

The Master flicked through the papers disdainfully and the Doctor pulled a face, tugging at his ear.

“Well. Look at us. What other way _could_ he rebel?”

Their eyes met, and the Master pursed his lips unhappily. 

“Point. Let’s hope this is the worst of it.”

Nodding, the Doctor answered the unasked question:

“I think he wants to study Engineering next. Roda seems happy to take the lead on it…”

The Doctor braced himself for the inevitable outburst that was sure to follow, but the Master merely took another sip of his coffee before turning back to the thesis and then making a frustrated noise.

“Am I in this _at all_?”

The Doctor picked up his sonic and glanced across the cluttered table, then relented.

“Your cult is somewhere in the _‘Imposed’_ section, and you’re mentioned under _‘Seized’_ along with Hitler and Trump. There’s an index in the back.”

The Master took a deep breath, closing his eyes and raising a hand.

“I was going to make the whole universe worship us, and _this_ is what I get? I’m… _deeply_ disappointed.”

The Doctor smiled to himself, bending over the gadget once more. 

“He’ll be very happy to hear that I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes from [The Jungle Book](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/236/236-h/236-h.htm) by Rudyard Kipling, specifically the first story 'Mowgli’s Brothers'.


End file.
